Darwin's Fist
by Cmdr. Gen. Marasco
Summary: The Great War has reignited. Peace is gone. The Germans are on the offensive, and the Darwinists are reeling. But America fights now, and as Deryn and Alek are about to find out, they've got a nasty trick up their sleeves. Something more than human.
1. Prolouge: First Sighting

**First Sighting**

**A/N: A little explanation for those of you wondering, which will probably be a lot; **

**This is a short fic based on a couple random pictures I posted on DeviantArt (for anyone interested in seeing them, go to DeviantArt and search "Straif5". The three pictures in the series are "Darwin's Fist", "First Sighting", and "Second Pass"). Basically, they was taken at Scott Westerfeld's October 7th visit to Seattle, which a friend and I attended. We dressed as OC's from an this (then upcoming) fic (hence the picture title) and while we were there a couple people took our pictures along with the few other people who cosplayed. **

**Unfortunately, some of them didn't come out too well. My friend sent me most of the bad ones, having no use for them, and out of boredom, I wrote a little fictional setting in the description for why they were so bad and what was going on in them, based on the fic, then posted them on DA. **

**When my friend saw it, he suggested that I could turn them into a fic itself. **

**So I did. That would be this work. Which, I guess could also be read as a prequel to Darwin's Fist.**

Sergeant Marasco, First Darwinist Combat Division, shifted uneasily, eyes glancing from one end of the room to the other, wishing he had his M1911 pistol at his side.

He didn't like this. He didn't like this at _all_.

It wasn't that his situation was bad; too anyone else, it would be wonderful. Being assigned to watch over your commanding officer at a fancy mix-and-mingle party in the frigging brand new Smith Tower, the tallest building in all of Seattle and the entire West Coast, attended by the best and brightest American and British boffins and soldiers and covered by reporters from just about every major newspaper in America would be a dream job for just about any soldier.

But Marasco wasn't just any soldier. He was a Sergeant in Darwin's Fist, America's special combat group. The best of the best, better than human. Crusher of Clankers, Defender of Darwinism. He didn't think he should be at parties; he thought he should be on the front lines, killing Clankers, or behind them, sabotaging walker production facilities or cutting supply lines. This was more of a job for one of the less-capable members of the force, like Sergeant Harkness.

But his superiors had decided that he was the best for this job, so they'd ordered him here.

And if there was one thing Sergeant Marasco did well, it was follow orders.

So here he was, stripped of most of his combat gear except for his forest-camouflage battle dress uniform, steel flak helmet, goggles, combat boots, his personal Memory Dolphin, Click, and the backpack he'd arranged to be waiting for him at the hotel, hoping for something more worrying than a pair of boffins get into a drunken shouting match to happen.

He glanced back over at his charge; Lieutenant Sophie MacPherson, second-in-command of Darwin's Fist and tactical commander for all their missions. She wasn't hard to miss; her uniform her uniform of black shirt, silver buttons, and grey pants stood out starkly against the rather calm colors of the people around her. She also happened to be the only person in Marasco's field of vision wearing glasses.

Currently, she was deep in conversation with a skinny blond boy from the Royal Zoological Society, who she'd introduced as Dylan Sharp, assistant to Dr. Nora Barlow, nee Darwin, of the same group. From here, Marasco easily could pick out they were discussing the countryside of Scotland. Something MacPherson knew quite a bit about, being half-Scot herself.

She obviously wasn't in any imminent trouble. Unless the boy got a little too much liqueur in him and decided to try something stupid. But even then Marasco probably wouldn't have to intervene. MacPherson could punch as good (if not better) as any boy he knew. One drunk Brit wouldn't be trouble. And if it got worse...well, he had contingencies.

Marasco shifted, the backpack he was wearing digging into his shoulders. He adjusted it, and it emitted a scent like almonds and a soft squishing noise as the Escape Huxley inside it moved as well.

This was Marasco's escape plan if worst came to worse; a couple steps to Lt. MacPherson, one pull of a cord, and the both of them would be airborne via miniaturized Huxley ascender, easily avoiding whatever trouble might come by floating out the large skylight over them.

Of course, there was the _slight_ possibility of being set on fire if the Huxley got hit with something...but that wasn't too frigging likely. Most people who saw an escape Huxley were too shocked by its deployment to do anything.

Once the pack was adjusted, Marasco kept his eyes moving, sweeping everything and anything around him.

The party was in full swing; the ballroom of the hotel echoed with hundreds of voices, the clink of glasses, and the consumption of random foods. Marasco picked out a dozen different conversations, covering everything from the war to new fabs to the differences between American English and British English. Even a couple, whispered discussions regarding Darwin's Fist itself, probably sparked by people noticing the unit patch on his left shoulder; a large fist clutching a life chain.

Not that whispering would prevent Marasco from hearing it.

He allowed himself a small smile at the tones of fear in the speaker's voices and the incorrectness in their assumptions about him and his unit. After a moment, he tuned it out and glanced back at his CO. When he noticed she hadn't moved, and Sharp hadn't tried anything, he decided to do a sweep of the room for any trouble.

Starting with the refreshments table.

Marasco moved easily through the crowd, senses straining for anything out of place. To his disappointment, there wasn't anything, and he arrived at the food table without any trouble.

As he approached, the upper-right pocket of his battle dress coat wriggled and emitted a couple of soft squeaks. Marasco unbuttoned it, allowing Click to poke its head out.

Marasco glanced down at the Memory Dolphin. It was a small thing, about the size of a rat or so, based on the Atlantic Bottlenose Dolphin, with a bit of the same life chains used in message lizards, memory frogs, and (more recently, according to Lt. MacPherson's monthly fab update to Darwin's Fist) the perspicacious loris. It also had some insect chains in it as well, meaning two Dolphins could actually communicate with each other over great distances. The upshot of which was that, unlike a message lizard, orders could be exchanged instantly between people in the field and their commanders.

Click shifted in Marasco's pocket, tiny black eyes focused on the table.

"Food." It said, voice high and quiet.

"Hungry, are you?" Marasco asked rhetorically.

"Grub, Mike Foxtrot!" Click replied, imitating the voice and phrase Sergeant Harkness usually adopted before meals in the mess.

Marasco allowed himself another small smile.

He approached the food table, reaching up to pull Click out of its residence in his pocket. The dolphin shifted in his hand, observing the available food on the table for anything that took it's fancy.

There was a lot of it; this _was_ Seattle, after all. The most Darwinist city in all of America's West Coast.

That was why this party was here and not further south. The real point of this meeting was to promote cooperation between Britain and America now that the latter had officially been in the war for two weeks, and it certainly wouldn't do well to have meeting of Darwinists in an area that was mainly Clanker, like pretty much any city in California.

Certainly Seattle had a large Clanker base as well (it _was_ the home of Boeing Aircraft, after all, and Marasco and MacPherson had used a streetcar to make it to the party), but unlike the practically the rest of the country, the city had struck a balance between the two, much like the Japanese that they traded heavily with. It had been necessary in the wake of the great fire that completely incinerated the city twenty-five years earlier.

It also helped that, if the Clankers decided to repeat their attack on New York here, they would have to cross all of Asia and the Pacific, and then contend with the Pacific Coast Defense Network spread all along the Olympic Peninsula to do it...

Click sighted something that it liked and almost wriggled out of Marasco's hand. He let the dolphin go, and it fell to the table with a soft _thump_. It shook itself, then inched to a plate of fabricated shrimp and began to gorge.

While he waited for Click to finish, Marasco glanced around the room again. The party carried on, unabated by the obviously-darkening sky Marasco could see out of the window.

Out of boredom, Marasco grabbed a tumbler of brandy from the end of the table. He slugged it down in one gulp. It was his tenth for the night, but he was part of Darwin's Fist; it would take twenty or thirty of these shots to even begin to intoxicate him.

As he was setting the glass down again and reaching for another, he caught movement out the corner of his eye. Movement itself wasn't unusual. This was a party. People moved.

What was unusual was the person moving. Marasco tracked him as he moved through the crowd.

A boy, with black hair and green eyes, wearing the same uniform that Dylan Sharp had on. The one of the Royal Zoological Society.

But he didn't look like a Brit. In fact, he didn't look like a Darwinist, period.

This characterization wasn't just guessing on Marasco's part; Darwin's Fist's training included instructions on profiling and lists of small details about people that could reveal almost everything you could ever want to know about them.

Like the non-fabricated leather of this boy's boots and belt.

The precise, stiff way he moved.

The slight jerk in his shoulders that happened every time he passed a fab.

The barely-detectable scents of grease and kerosene.

And the black, oily smudges on his fingers.

To Marasco, everything about this boy screamed one thing;

Clanker.

Marasco stood up straighter, fists clenched. Now _this_ was interesting. What was a Clanker doing walking around dressed like a boffin's assistant?

He continued to watch the boy as he moved through the crowd, heading away from the food table and toward the large windows at the back of the hall.

Towards, he realized, where MacPherson currently was.

Marasco glanced over at the table. Click had apparently finished eating, and was now sitting next to the remains of the shrimp it had downed.

Quickly, Marasco retrieved it and returned it to its home in his jacket. It shifted for a moment, let out a small belch, and then poked its head out of the top of his pocket.

The Clanker boy moved deeper into the crowd. Marasco followed, at a distance.

As he followed him, Marasco kept his head on a swivel, checking for anything else strange. He didn't see anything of the level of the Clanker boy, but he did see quite a few big names in the Seattle scene milling about.

William "Bill" Boeing and his wife, owners of the aircraft company that bore their name and produced most of America's high-end airships and aeroplanes. James Casey, founder of the rapidly-expanding American Messenger Company that was starting to get a choke-hold on all major package transportation. Edward Bauer, head of the company that made the uniform on Marasco's back. Katharine Cruse, young boffin prodigy and fabricator of the cloud cat and areozoan, America's answer to the strafing hawk and Huxley. Dr. Kerrigan, the mind behind the Lisk species of ground-combat fabs. Levi Blue, local inventor of many revolutionary Clanker machines, including the recently-debuted tunneling machine currently in use on the Western Front in Europe. Professor Silvertounge, the boffin responsible for the recent trend in pet fabs, what she called "daemons". Evelyn Karr, photographer of well renown, obviously here to document this party for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. Adam Niles, head of Projects: LIGHTMASS and LOCUST, of which Marasco only knew the code names. Even Dr. Church, one of the fanciest of fancy-boot boffins in Darwin's Fist and the person running the show at the Woodland Park Zoo three blocks north of Marasco's house.

Nile and Church Marasco knew personally; Niles's son Marcus was also a Sergeant and had worked with Marasco before, and Church's daughter Allison was one of Darwin's Fist's special operatives and a good friend of both Lieutenant MacPherson and Sergeant Harkness.

Marasco nodded to both as he passed, and Church returned it. Niles missed him, apparently deep in discussion with Mrs. Boeing.

The Clanker boy Marasco had been following slowed. Marasco sped up, sensing a chance to finally confront him. He reached out his hand, aiming for the boy's shoulder-

And was interrupted suddenly by a long passing group of drunken partiers, connected together into a line by placing their hands on the shoulders of the person ahead of them.

To Marasco, it looked like some horrifying human centipede. He recoiled, and the line walked by him, Marasco watching it wearily as it moved away.

When he glanced back, he realized he'd lost the Clanker boy.

Marasco swore, glancing madly about. No sign of him at all. The crowd had shifted, hiding the boy better than any military stealth device that Marasco knew of. And he knew quite a few of them.

Hurriedly, Marasco changed course. If he couldn't find the boy, he could at least warn MacPherson. If nothing else, she'd want to know there was a Clanker dressed as a boffin here…

Marasco moved through the crowd with new urgency. Thankfully, the party had begun to reach the stage when most people were either slightly tipsy or full-on drunk, so he had an easy enough time getting through.

He spotted MacPherson. She was still with Sharp, but she'd apparently been joined by someone else; a girl, possibly of Ottoman decent, judging by her skin and the accent he could hear in her voice. They were in deep discussion about women's rights and suffrage and other non-military topics.

He noticed that Sharp seemed to be rather friendly with the Ottoman. Perhaps they had met some time in the past...

Quietly, Marasco sidled up to the group. As he'd intended, Sharp and the Ottoman didn't notice him.

MacPherson did. She didn't miss much. If anything, _her_ last name should have been "Sharp".

"Ah, Sergeant Marasco. Good of you to join us." She said without turning around. Sharp and the Ottoman jumped in surprise, suddenly noticing Marasco. Now that he was close enough, Marasco recognized the second girl from the front page of the Seattle P-I; Lilit Zaven, the Ottoman Republic's ambassador's aide.

That also explained her friendliness with Sharp; there'd been mention of a Dylan Sharp in the New York World recently, regarding an incident that had happened in Istanbul a couple months before. Something about a runaway walker.

And the whispers Darwin's Fist had heard from the Republic indicated that the revolution had been helped along by British agents, including one who matched Dylan's description...

"Lillit, Deryn, I'd like you to meet Sergeant David Marasco, the soldier I told you about." MacPherson continued.

Despite his worry, Marasco found himself surprised. He'd thought the Brit's name was Dylan. Could he have heard wrong? Deryn seemed like rather strange name for a boy-

But a perfect one for a girl. And that was what Sharp was. He could smell it now. She lacked that hard, metallic tang in her pheromones that most males had.

The realization shook Marasco, but not much. He considered it, accepted it, adjusted his thinking and forgot about it.

Boy, girl, whatever. The only difference was a chromosome.

Deryn didn't seem as calm about it as he was.

"Uh, ma'am, I'm not sure-" She began. MacPherson cut her off with a hand motion.

"Marasco has no trouble with military women, Deryn. For that matter, he is rather..._intolerant_ of people who dislike the idea. I trust him with my life." She said. "And he's kept much more important secrets than yours."

She turned to Marasco and smiled. "Isn't that right, Sergeant?"

Marasco nodded automatically. It _was_ right; just last week, he'd kept the plans for a new airship in his head for Boeing while the company was being swept for Clanker agents. And he was still keeping more, most of which MacPherson couldn't mention due to their high censorship level.

"Yes ma'am." He said, snapping a pair of sharp salutes; first the standard fingers-to-forehead, then the one unique to Darwin's Fist; right fist raised to head height.

In his rush to get these formalities over, his words came out as one word; _yesmaam_.

MacPherson seemed to notice his hurry. Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

"Something wrong?" She asked, voice suddenly serious. Marasco felt the worries that had been nagging at him since he first saw the Clanker boy evaporate. When Lieutenant MacPherson got serious, things got ugly for whoever was up against her.

"Yes." Marasco glanced at Deryn and Lillit, then back a MacPherson. "No offense, ma'am, but-"

"Got it." MacPherson turned, and was about to say something to send the two girls off when someone called out "Ah, perfect!"

Marasco turned to see Miss Karr approaching, her camera slung around her neck. Behind her came a small entourage of people, most with cameras or notepads or both. Reporters.

"Barking spiders..." Marasco heard Deryn whisper. "It's Malone. _And_ Rogers."

"I could deal with them..." Lilit whispered, reaching into her dress pocket for something. "And I'm sure this Marasco would be willing to help if he knew why..."

Before he could ask what she meant, Karr eased Marasco to the side and took MacPherson by the shoulder.

Marasco instinctively reached for his M1911, intending to use some .45 caliber leverage to persuade Karr to release his CO. Luckily for Karr, neither his pistol nor its holster was there.

MacPherson noticed and made a quick, sharp motion with her hand. To anyone else, it would have looked like she was shaking her fingers out. But Marasco knew it for what it was; a hand-sign meaning _stand__down_.

So he stood down, backing away a bit. Miss Karr moved MacPherson into a pose with the other two girls, and two of the group from her following, a woman who's notepad indicated she worked for the _San__Francisco__Inquirer_, and a younger girl carrying a camera almost as big as her head, apparently this reporter's photographer.

This must be the "Rogers" Deryn had mentioned; Miss Adela Rogers. Marasco remembered her from the briefing he'd been given a month before. And "Malone" must be Eddie Malone of the _New__York__World_. Marasco didn't need the briefing to know _him_; he'd read the man's articles. He'd been the author of the one on Deryn and the more-recent ones on the investigations into the Goliath incident.

Both of them had been tagged in as "threats to concealment"; unusually thorough and possibly unscrupulous reporters who wouldn't hesitate to print anything they might find out.

In Darwin's Fist slang: "Dead meat".

Marasco glanced over at MacPherson. She was gamely following Miss Karr's instructions, waiting while the photographer positioned her subjects the way she wanted them. First Miss Rogers, then her photographer, Lillit, Deryn, and finally her.

"Perfect." She said, stepping back to admire her work. Marasco could smell brandy on her breath, and wondered if the woman was slightly tipsy. "You were right, Mr. Malone. This truly will be a fine addition to my "Darwinist Collaboration" exhibition."

So _that_ was what was going on; Miss Karr was borrowing MacPherson for a photo op. Made sense; nothing showed a true Darwinist than a Darwin's Fist uniform bearing a Lieutenant's bars.

"Told you." Malone's voice called from the crowd. Marasco couldn't see the man himself, blocked as it was by part of the crush of reporters, but he could tell approximately where he was by where the voice came from.

Marasco moved, sliding into the crush of people until he found where Malone should be. Sure enough, he could see the man off to his left. Currently, he was staring though his camera, checking the picture. Marasco turned so he was facing his CO and moved in closer, a little in front of Malone but well out of his camera angle. He wanted to catch the el-tee the moment she stepped off this line.

There was some shuffling, then a moment of silence while Malone lined up the final shot and Miss Karr quickly stepped out the picture.

"Act professional!" Malone called.

Most of his subjects promptly ignored him. Deryn and Lillit struck relaxed poses, Miss Rogers held up her notebook so the title of her paper was clear, and her photographer glanced over at something out of Marasco's view.

Only MacPherson followed Malone's order. She saluted smartly, boots snapping together loudly.

Malone's camera went off with a flash and a soft _thud_ that only Marasco heard as the fabricated firefly in it's flash dropped from exhaustion. It had gotten dark enough now that the flash was needed to make the picture visible.

The flash, though it hadn't been pointed at him, partially blinded Marasco, sending stars skittering across his eyes.

As he blinked in an attempt to recover, he suddenly felt his skin crawl, his combat danger sense kicking in. He could feel someone else's eyes on him and the group...

While Malone fed his firefly some sugar to get it up and ready again, another, smaller flash illuminated them. Neither Malone or anyone in the group seemed to notice it. The subjects of Karr's picture started to relax, undisturbed by the sudden flash.

Marasco saw it, but he didn't immediately think it was real. His vision was still recovering from Malone's flash, and he wasn't a hundred percent sure it wasn't another after side effect.

Then came another one. This time, Marasco was sure it was real.

Cautiously, he glanced over his shoulder, barely moving his head and using his peripheral vision to its furthest extent.

There; the Clanker boy from earlier, looking at something in his palm. Marasco couldn't see it very clearly due to the crowd and it's position just out of his range of vision, but he could guess pretty well what it was;

A concealed camera, probably one of the new Mark 1 "fly cams" that the British had recently developed.

And, judging by the angle the boy had been standing at, he hadn't been looking at the group.

Marasco's insides clenched. This was _not_ good. Darwin's Fist had standing orders to stay out of any papers, news reels, personal pictures or official reports. Basically anything that could tell anyone something about them.

Thankfully, the group seemed to be breaking up now. Rogers and her photographer were talking with Miss Karr and Malone, and Deryn and Lillit were moving off, waving to MacPherson as they departed.

Marasco hurried to his Lieutenant's side.

"What's the snag, Marasco?" MacPherson asked out of the corner of her mouth while waving back at Deryn and Lilit.

"We may have just been burnt, ma'am." Marasco replied, just as quiet. "There's a Clanker here, running about dressed in a RZS uniform. And I think he just took a picture of us with a fly cam."

"Hmmm." MacPherson didn't seem very concerned with this development, considering how it had been she who gave Darwin's Fist the "no intel" mandate. "That wouldn't happen to be him, would it?"

She pointed, and Marasco followed her finger. Sure enough, she was pointing at the Clanker boy, who was now moving through the crowd. In the direction of Deryn, he noticed.

"Yeah, that's the bitch." Marasco growled. "You want me to take care of him?"

"No." MacPherson replied calmly. Marasco jerked back, startled. _That_ was something he'd never expected to hear; Sophie MacPherson telling him _not_ to kill a Clanker.

"Ma'am?" He asked in surprise.

"You heard me correct, Sergeant." MacPherson continued. "Now, would you kindly escort me out? We have a streetcar to catch."

"Uh...aye." Marasco muttered, extremely confused. MacPherson offered her arm, and he took it, leading her easily through the crowd.

"Ma'am, no offense-"

"Outside." MacPherson ordered. Marasco quieted, understanding. She'd explain everything once they were outside.

Thankfully, the main room of the Smith Tower wasn't very long. Marasco shouldered the door open into the cold, damp night. It had rained while they were inside, and the concrete sparkled with puddles and dew.

"I know what you're going to ask." MacPherson said, before Marasco could open his mouth. "And don't worry. This is all according to plan."

"Plan?" Marasco asked, once again surprised. MacPherson smiled darkly.

"Of course. Do you really think we would waste a couple hours of our time simply meeting people? No, Sergeant. The point of this little party was to get Darwin's Fist noticed. And in that case, you preformed you part admirably. And I must applaud you on your choice of people to expose yourself to."

"Oh?" Marasco raised an eyebrow. "Who would those be? The Clankers?"

"No. The RZS. That "Clanker boy" you saw is none other than Aleksander Ferdinand himself."

"Ferdinand?" Now this _was_interesting. "As in Austrian Alek?"

"One and the same."

"So that's why you had me let him go." Marasco muttered, nodding. "Probably would have caused an international incident if I nailed him, wouldn't it?"

"That, and with luck, he'll show that picture he took of you to his boss before he gets around to making out with Deryn."

Marasco paused, unsure of what to say to this.

"Uh...yes, ma'am." He finally said. MacPherson grinned again.

"I need your dolphin." She said, holding out her hand. Marasco fished Click out his pocket and handed it to her.

While MacPherson used Click to give a SITREP to their boss, Marasco looked up into the darkening, cloudy sky. A smile crept onto his lips.

There was only one reason that Darwin's Fist would break cover; they were about to go hot. It looked like he was going to get his wish to fight Clankers granted.

Sure enough, the moment she finished her report, MacPherson tossed Click back to him and ordered;

"Ready up. We deploy to the Western Front tomorrow."

Marasco smiled broader and cracked his knuckles.

"Yes ma'am." He said. "Ready when you are."


	2. Chapter 1

**Darwin's Fist**

**Chapter 1**

"This blows." Bovril muttered.

"Aye, beastie. It does." Deryn couldn't help but agree with the loris. This situation _did_ blow. Though she probably wouldn't have referred to it in such Yank terms.

When she'd agreed to work for Dr. Barlow's mysterious Zoological Society, she'd expected to leave the war behind. After all (in no small part due to the work of herself, Alek, and the _Leviathan_) it had seemed that the Clankers were on the ropes and the war would be over quickly.

But, instead, her first real job for the lady boffin, three weeks after America joined the war and she left the _Leviathan_, was to accompany her to a supposed peace talk between the Darwinist nations and what remained of Germany in some barking abandoned mansion in the no-mans-land between Germany and France. Alek had come with them, of course. Who better to talk to the Clanker nations about peace than the boy who might have steered them into it?

Not that Deryn particularly minded _why_ Alek came. All that mattered was that he did.

And, until about an hour ago, everything had been going swell. Accords were agreed upon, payments finalized, and it looked like peace was finally in their grasp.

Then what seemed like every walker in the barking German military showed up and began turning the land around them into the surface of the sodding moon. And, judging from the reports they'd heard over the mansion's wireless set before the antenna was destroyed, this was just part of a series of attacks on all combat fronts. The Russians were reeling, the Ottomans had been surprised by water-walkers rising from their own harbor, Paris was under attack by a new model of walker, and (though Deryn hoped with all her heart it wasn't true) it seemed a flight of German zeppelins was currently raining bombs on London.

The shelling they were enduring was what Bovril had been complaining about. The almost constant rumble of shells demolishing anything and everything in their path. When the bombardment had first started, the loris had been having a grand time mimicking the noises of the shells and the walker's engines. But by three-quarters of an hour in, it had gotten bored with that and was now mostly silent, only occasionally muttering some new phrase it had learned from the Americans (or "Yanks", as the papers had titled them).

And, for some reason Deryn couldn't explain, it was currently sitting on her head.

She glanced at her surroundings, feeling the loris shift as she turned, claws digging into her scalp.

Like her, the rest of the delegation was currently under whatever cover they could find in the room. Under desks, behind couches, inside fallen wardrobes. Anything that could provide some amount of safety from the German shells falling all around them. The Germans who had come to the meeting were nowhere to be seen. They'd probably run the moment their countrymen opened fire. Good riddance to bad clart, Deryn figured.

But, all things considered, it could be a lot worse. Deryn's only complains so far were that Clanker gunners really did not know when to stop firing, and that Alek wasn't with her. He was currently on the other side of the room, sharing a large, tipped-over bookcase with one of the Yank boffins, one Dr. Church.

She would have liked to be near him. In all the commotion, she figured, it wouldn't be too hard to slip her hand into his without anyone noticing…

But there were a couple yards of open space separating them, and right now being in open space was paramount to a death sentence.

As if to prove her thoughts right, Bovril started to make a low whining noise. Deryn recognized it; an incoming shell.

There was a soft _tinkle_ as the shell passed through one of the large, elegant windows providing light to the room before going right out the one opposite in a spray of glass.

The shell's passage elicited a couple soft moans of horror from its occupants; mainly the Yanks Deryn was pleased to notice. They obviously weren't used to combat.

She found herself suddenly glad that Alek was on the other side of the room. If he'd been next to her when the shell passed through, she might have gone and done something barking stupid. And, as she had no idea where Dr. Barlow was, she wasn't sure the boffin wouldn't notice. She'd made comments to them before about their relationship.

Another shell approached, but this one missed the window and impacted the side of the mansion.

Marble, glass and wood flew in all directions, and Bovril lost its balance on Deryn's head. It slid off her hair and fell, grabbing the front of her shirt to stop itself.

Across the room, Alek muttered something in Clanker talk. Then, in English, he added; "God's wounds, that was close."

"Too close." Bovril agreed from the front of Deryn's shirt. Hurriedly, Deryn placed the loris on her shoulder, lest its weight reveal anything. She'd recently found it necessary to wear larger shirts than normal, as her diddies had finally started to show up. And having her diddies be noticed was not something she needed now, playing Dylan Sharp as she was.

"Indeed." Dr. Church spoke from Alek's side. "It seems those Germans have finally figured out how gravity works."

His voice was calm, despite what had just happened. They way he spoke made what he was saying sound like he was discussing the weather. Deryn noticed a sort of _twang_ in it, which Dr. Barlow had informed was the accent usually associated with the state of Texas, where Dr. Church was originally from.

He certainly looked calm as well. While the other ambassadors were huddled as far under or into their cover as they could manage, Dr. Church was sitting quite comfortably under the higher part of the bookcase. He was even reading one of the books that had fallen from the case when it had tipped over, a barking thick volume with attic-twisting Clanker writing in it.

"Sir, you might want to scoot back a squick." Deryn suggested. Dr. Church looked up from the book and gave her a surprisingly kindly smile, adjusting the large spectacles he wore.

"Thank you for your concern, Agent Sharp," He said, using Deryn's recently gained title. "But I highly doubt we will need to hide for much longer. I'd rather not make myself uncomfortable unless I need to."

"What makes you so sure of that?" Alek asked. Deryn noticed the question seemed slightly interrogative.

If Church noticed it, he didn't react. He simply smiled again and stretched out his right leg. It shook slightly as he did, and Deryn remembered Dr. Barlow mentioning something about him being attacked by a fab at a young age.

"We are going to be rescued, of course." Church's voice was still pleasant, something Deryn found strangely unnerving. "We-well, I, anyway- did plan for this contingency. An extraction force has been in position since these talks began, and I have no doubt they are now on their way to retrieve us."

"And you didn't tell us before now?" Deryn asked. Typical overconfident Yanks, letting her and the rest of the boffins stew in their own clart when they barking knew rescue was coming!

"It wasn't important till now." Church replied. "And, I suspect, that telling people it was there would have indicated we were expecting trouble and accelerated this little altercation."

"Barking Yanks." Bovril commented.

"As long as they actually save us…" Alek muttered. Dr. Church went back to reading.

Deryn risked moving far enough out of cover to look up at the skylight over them, hoping to see the rescue Dr. Church had described. Perhaps an airship or airbeast, raining fire down upon the Germans all around them. Or a squadron of American aeroplanes strafing the area. Maybe even some of those Huxley troopers she'd heard about. They seemed barking crazy enough to try this. You had to be cracked in your attic to willingly jump out of a perfectly good airship and into combat with only a Huxley on your back to slow you down. Deryn knew first hand how _that_ could go wrong…

But there wasn't anything. The skylight was empty, showing nothing but the brilliant, cloudless sky above them.

Deryn found herself disappointed twice; first by the lack of any apparent rescue operation, and second by the fact that she was stuck here, on the ground, and not up in the beautiful sky.

Her disappointment was eliminated a moment later when something small, damp, and slightly soft collided with her face.

On instinct, Deryn grabbed whatever had hit her and tossed away into a corner. She wiped her face to clear away the dampness the thing had left behind.

"Ah, that would be them." Dr. Church said as Deryn wiped her face on her shirt.

When she dropped her shirt, Deryn could see Church holding something in his hand. At first, she thought it was a rat, or some other rodent. But then she noticed the rubbery skin, the fins, and the small, black eyes.

The thing that had hit her was a fabricated dolphin of some kind, a little squick of a thing. Though why a fabricated dolphin would fall onto her face Deryn didn't know.

The dolphin made a soft squeaking noise that morphed into a very human sounding cough.

"Dr. Church, do you read?" It asked. The voice it spoke with had an American accent, similar to the ones Deryn had heard at the party she and Alek had attended up in Seattle a week ago. The same party, she realized, that she'd seen a fab similar to this one.

A shiver went down her spine. She suddenly had a very good idea of who their rescuers might be.

"Go ahead, Harkness." Church replied, speaking to the dolphin.

"We're in position, sir." Harkness continued, apparently speaking through the dolphin.

Now _that_ was barking interesting. Could these dolphins provide real-time communications, like a Clanker wireless set?

"Status?"

"Ready to commence on your order."

"Do it." Church's voice lost its cheerfulness for a second.

"Copy. We're coming in from the roof. Watch your heads."

The dolphin made a soft _click_, and Church placed it in the pocket of his coat.

"Everyone, back away from the skylight!" he shouted. "Our rescue has arrived!"

His call was greeted with mumbles of confusion from around the room. The confusion died down a moment later as the air was suddenly rent with a low, repeating _wump_ noise, like someone dust-beating a rug over and over. A black shape appeared over the skylight, massive and blocky, with a pair of spinning blades on its wings like a gyrothoper. A second later, the skylight blew out, every pane of glass in it falling like a glittering, sharp rain.

Boffins and ambassadors screamed in multiple languages, and those that had ventured out from the safety of their cover hurled themselves back under it as glass shards exploded on the ground.

The glass rain stopped, but something followed it. Four thick black ropes uncoiled through the skylight like snakes. For a moment, Deryn thought they actually _were_ snakes, a theory helped along by the sudden hissing that came from the ropes as they fell.

But a glance up confirmed that the hissing wasn't coming from the ropes themselves. It was the combined sound of four soldiers sliding down the ropes on friction harnesses, their metal clamps rasping against the hemp of the rope.

Deryn recognized them. Or rather, the gear they were wearing. She'd seen their uniform before, the one that made it look like they were wearing foliage.

A glance at the left shoulder of the nearest soldier confirmed her guess. It bore a patch depicting a large fist clutching a life chain.

"Crushers of Clankers, defenders of Darwinism." Bovril quoted from Deryn's shoulder.

"Aye." She mumbled. "It's barking Darwin's Fist."

Deryn had learned more about the mysterious unit since she and Alek had first encountered them at the party a week ago. The day after it, as the airbeast Dr. Barlow had bought them all passage on readied to head east from Seattle back to Britain, she'd picked up an evening edition of a local paper that included an "exclusive interview" with none other than the boy she'd met at the party. By Miss Adela Rodgers, of all people.

She hadn't learned very much from the article, but she now knew their name, that they were the best of the best, their training seemed inhumanly harsh, they seemed exceedingly loyal to Darwinism, and they were headed out into the Western Front of Europe.

It had also confirmed the feeling she'd had when she was talking to Leftenant of the group.

There was defiantly something not right with them.

The realization of who her rescuers were brought up another question; what was America's elite doing here? Surely they had more important things to deal with than rescuing a bunch of trapped negotiators. Like, perhaps, stopping the German counter-assault?

The four soldiers hit solid ground one after another, boots crunching against the remains of the skylight. They took up combat positions the moment they landed, readying the rifles they'd carried on their backs. Deryn, who'd been studying American weaponry as part of her job, recognized them as M1903 Springfields, the .30 caliber rifle of choice for most American troops. On holsters at their sides, she noticed, they carried M1911 pistols.

After a moment during which no German soldiers rushed to fight them, they relaxed a bit. The soldier who had hit the ground first strode forward into the empty space directly under the skylight, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Deryn caught a Sergeant's insignia pinned to his collar before he turned.

"Alright, listen up!" He called authoritatively. "We don't have much time, so I'm only going to say this once. I'm Sergeant Harkness, and I'll be you're rescue today."

"Harkness." Bovril muttered, rolling the word around in the way loris's tended to do when they learned new words.

So this was the boy Dr. Church had been talking with.

"Right now, we've got a gunship pinning the Clankers down, but they can't do it forever. I need anyone who isn't wounded or dead to get on your feet and head for that door." Harkness pointed to the main door to the mansion, which was miraculously still on it's hinges. His tone of voice made it clear he wasn't making a request.

Slowly, the delegation removed themselves from their cover. Deryn joined them, grunting as her knee tingled. It still wasn't completely healed, and it gave her trouble some times. As the crowd began to mill around the door, she managed to reach Alek's side. Even before she could, he slipped his hand into hers.

"That insignia..." He whispered, leaning in close to her ear.

"Aye." She replied. "It's them. The Yanks we saw at the party."

Around them, the boffins and ambassadors hurried quickly for the door, obviously glad of the chance of rescue.

"So what are they doing here?" Alek wondered aloud, pressing himself closer to Deryn to avoid being caught in the sudden rush of slightly-panicking people. The main doors of the mansion were being swung open by half the Darwin's Fist contingent, and on the other side Deryn could see what had to be the largest, ugliest gyrothoper ever. Which alone was surprising. The gyrothopers she remembered were small, fragile things, only good for scouting. This one was large enough to have a good-sized cargo bay, which the boffins and ambassadors were being ushered into.

It was the same type of contraption that had dropped the soldier's through the roof, though a different one. The original was still overhead, ropes hanging taught from it.

"Plotters." Bovril chimed in, climbing happily from Deryn's shoulder to Alek's.

"Plotters indeed." Alek muttered. "I don't like this."

"Aye, me neither. But whatever is going on, we better shift our bums or we'll be stuck here." Deryn said, reluctantly releasing her hold on Alek. "I'd rather not be here when those Clanker's start firing again."

Alek quickly fell into step beside her. But as they neared the door, one of the soldier's called out.

"Hey, you Agent's Sharp and Ferdinand?" He asked.

Deryn turned, Alek behind her.

The soldier who spoke sounded young, possibly even younger than they both were. His features were hard to pick out through the large pair of flight goggles he wore and the face paint he'd adorned himself with. It made it look like his face was part of his uniform.

"I'm Sharp." Deryn replied. "He's Ferdinand."

"Ma'am. Sir." The soldier saluted them. As he did, Deryn got a good look at his collar. The twin bars of a corporal glinted in the light.

Something struck Deryn.

Had he just called her _ma'am_?

Before she had time to really think about it, the Corporal was speaking again.

"I got orders that say you and your boss need to come with us." he said.

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Glancing in the indicated direction, Deryn could see one of the other Fist soldier's helping Dr. Barlow rise from the shattered door she'd been using as cover. The third was ushering the last of the delegates from the room and into the gyrothoper, and the final one (Harkness, she realized) was currently helping Dr. Church with something. As he did, he saluted the boffin.

So _that _was why there were here; Dr. Church was part of Darwin's Fist!

There was a sound like a pistol firing as Dr. Barlow hurried over to Deryn's side, the heels of her dress boots clicking on the marble floor.

"Dr. Church." She said, voice sounding colder than Deryn had ever heard it. "May I kindly ask what's going on?"

"Certainly, Nora." Dr. Church replied, calmly as ever. He handed the large book he'd been reading to Sergeant Harkness and leaned forward on the fabricated-wood cane the soldier handed him in return. "But may I ask what exactly you mean?"

"What I mean is the fact that these soldiers received orders saying that I and my assistants are supposed to come with you." Dr. Barlow practically spat the words out. Dr. Church seemed unaffected.

"Can't say I know myself. This is the first I've heard of it." He turned to Sergeant Harkness. "Sergeant, perhaps you could provide some illumination on this subject?"

"Yes sir!" Harkness replied. "We just got it on the way down here. Came straight from Dr. H herself."

"Of course. Miranda and her last-minute changes." Dr. Church made a coughing noise that Deryn realized was a laugh. She glanced over at Dr. Barlow. To her surprise, the lady boffin looked almost angry. She rounded on Harkness, who flinched visibly when she looked at him.

"This 'Doctor H' you speak of." She asked, voice cold enough to send shivers up Deryn's spine. "That letter wouldn't happen to stand for 'Halsey', would it?"

"Uh..." Harkness blinked, and glanced over at Dr. Church. The American boffin simply gave him a small nod. "Yeah, that's her." Harkness finished, swallowing quietly.

"As I thought." Barlow muttered. She straightened, then turned and faced Alek and Deryn. "Well, gentlemen, it seems we have new assignment."

"Ready to leave when you are, Doctor." Alek said, snapping to attention. Deryn followed shortly after, slowed only by Bovril's sudden leap from Alek to her.

Dr. Barlow nodded grimly, then engaged Dr. Church in some deep boffin talk. Harkness signaled to the rest of his group, and they cut the ropes from the gyrothoper overhead and directed it into the position that the other one had held at the doors moments before. The two boffins headed for it, still deep in conversation. Deryn and Alek followed, Deryn slipping her hand again into Alek's. Harkness and his group followed.

Behind her, Harkness paused, tilting his head to the side. A look of horror filled his face.

"Son of a fab! Incoming!" He bellowed, breaking into a mad sprint from a dead-stop.

"What? What's going on?" Alek asked, looking around in confusion. Deryn felt the same thought fill her own attic.

"Shit!" The Corporal swore and suddenly grabbed Deryn's arm in one hand and Alek's in the other. "The Clanker's just opened up again! We have to get the hell out of here _now_!"

The two soldier's cries of fear spurned the group on. Even the two boffins managed to make good time to the gyrothoper, fancy boots and bad leg notwithstanding.

Alek and Deryn, practically being dragged by the Corporal, were the first ones inside. Deryn had enough time to look around and get a quick view of thin metal walls with small portholes and a pair of long benches running the length of the bay before the Corporal practically threw her onto one of them. Following closely behind them were the two boffins and the remaining three Darwin's Fist operatives. One by one, they clambered aboard and took their seats.

Sergeant Harkness was the last one aboard, screaming at the pilot to "fracking go!" before jumping into the still-open back of the gyrothoper as it started to pull away. He clambered into the seat opposite Deryn.

Harkness breathed a sigh of relief and took of his combat helmet. Underneath was a red night-watch style cap.

He glanced up, directly at Deryn.

"Hey, you're Deryn Sharp." It was a statement, not a question.

"Aye, that's me." Deryn replied slowly, not sure what to think of the boy's knowledge of her secret. Harkness seemed to notice this and smiled slightly.

"The el-tee and Sarge Marasco filled us in on you after the party." He said, glancing down to inspect something on his helmet. "Glad to actually meet you."

"Aye." Deryn replied shifting in her seat. It wasn't the most comfortable thing ever, and it made her bum ache slightly. She glanced out back of the gyrothoper, which was still open.

Through it, she could see what she'd been blind to hiding inside the mansion; several rather nasty looking walkers, each bearing the flag of Germany, unloading round after round into the building. One seemed to notice them, and turned to engage, but the gyrothoper was now too high to be hit by anything the walker carried. The door closed itself, sealed by a mechanikal mechanism of some form. The gyrothoper climbed faster, an acceleration Deryn could feel in her stomach.

"Gotta say, MacPherson's going to be happy to see you again," Harkness spoke suddenly. Deryn turned back to him.

"Oh?" She asked.

"Yeah. She's been singing your praises for a while now. She does like her 'warrior women' or whatever." Harkness shrugged again. A sudden smile played across his lips. "Not so sure Marasco's going to be too happy about his though."

"Is he here?" Deryn asked, glancing down along the bench for any sign of the Sergeant. Harkness shook his head.

"Nah. The lucky Sierra Oscar Bravo got himself a 'special mission' in Paris. Ess-and-are."

"Search and rescue." Deryn muttered, recognizing the acronym.

"Yeah." Harkness looked like he wanted to say more, but he was distracted by the pilot calling out something. He left his seat long enough to listen, then returned. He crossed his arms behind his head.

"Settle in, ladies." He said with a grin. "We got a couple hours till we RV with the _Dreadnought_."

Deryn was about to ask what a "Dreadnought" was (other than the ocean going ship, obviously), but Harkness had closed his eyes and seemed to be asleep. She settled for leaning against Alek's shoulder and looking out the porthole opposite her.

One way or another, she figured, she was about to find out more about Darwin's Fist than she'd hoped.


	3. Chapter 2

Darwin's Fist

Chapter 2

Several hundred miles away (a distance that grew with every second) Sergeant David Marasco hung grimly from the back wall brace of his unit's V-3 "Cattlecar" transport gyrothoper. Thankfully for his hand, there was a groove in the brace for just this purpose.

Below him flashed the outskirts of Paris. It was a mess down there; smoke rose in huge pillars, thick enough that the Cattlecar pilot had to swing wide of them lest the grit clog the gyro's engines. The sounds of fighting could easily be heard over the sound of the Cattlecar's rotors, and explosions chained off randomly through the city.

Marasco wished he could be down there. _This_ was what he signed up for; to bring it to the Clankers, face to face.

Instead, his commanders had seen fit to once again deny him the chance to fight. His job right now was Search and Rescue, his targets a small group of friendly forces that had become trapped in this quadrant of Paris. He was, in the words of Lt. MacPherson to "under no circumstances engage the enemy unless completely necessary".

And, because he was Sergeant Marasco, he intended to follow that order to the letter. Though he really didn't want to.

At least he wasn't alone this time. Now, he had back up; the eleven soldiers of First Squad, his standard command.

They were arranged behind him on the Cattlecar's seats, ten soldiers lower ranked than him and his second in command, Corporal Hester Shaw, hanging from the brace directly opposite him.

Shaw was one of the few soldiers Marasco trusted with his life. In many ways, she was like MacPherson; cold, calculating, and very military-proper. In fact, the only real differences between the two females was MacPherson's higher rank, their hair and eyes (Shaw's ginger and green to MacPherson's double black), Shaw's lack of glasses, and the deep scar that ran across the Corporal's face and through her right eye and nose, the last remaining memento of her single-handed take down of a Mexican walker during her first mission under Marasco's command, less than a month before. That, and her cloned eye. The walker had taken her original one when it blew up.

Shaw noticed he was looking at her and saluted. Marasco nodded in response.

"Stand by, Sarge!" the pilot called out from the cockpit. She was one of the newer flyer's assigned to the unit, and Marasco couldn't remember her name. "We're two minutes from the LZ!"

"Copy!" Marasco shouted back, then let go of the brace and planted his feet in the middle of the cargo bay.

Time for his before the battle speech.

"Listen up, you wastes of life chains!" He howled, startling some of the soldiers at the far back. "We are here for one thing, and one thing only; to save the sorry asses of some friendlies dumb enough to still be stuck down there!"

His voice was sharp, but had very little real venom in it. He knew his men wouldn't screw up. But he had a form to keep. Sergeants weren't supposed to be your best friend. And the shouting helped get their adrenaline flowing, made their senses sharper and their reaction times lower.

"So check your weapons, check your buddies, and most importantly, CHECK YOUR SPLICING CROSSFIRE!"

He shook his fist to emphasize the last four words.

"Am I clear, Darwin's?" He asked.

"Sir yes sir, Sergeant Marasco!" His soldiers roared back as one. There was an echoing _thunk_ as they slammed the butts of their weapons on the bay floor.

"Then get on your feet and get ready for a fast rope in!" Marasco turned and retrieved his own equipment from under the last seat in the row.

At least this time he had his full gear. His loadout for this mission included his treasured M1911, a MK IV Trench Shotgun for close work (thankfully re-painted a sensible black as opposed to the original ridiculous orange, yellow, and green color scheme), and a full array of combat fabs; Throwing Sharks, Orca Grenades, sevearl recently developed multi-purpose Combustible Lemon, and (of course) Click.

Readied up, he glanced at Shaw. The Corporal was inspecting her own weapon, a new type of rifle she'd picked up before leaving America, unimaginatively titled the Experimental Darwinist Rifle 1. It was an ugly weapon in Marasco's opinion, all plastic with a blue and red coloration. He couldn't deny its effectiveness, however. The splicing thing fired a 25mm round, after all, and was technically considered an anti-walker rifle. Not that it wasn't equally effective against infantry, of course.

"You green, Corporal?" He asked. Shaw nodded, slamming a magazine into the body of her rifle.

"Ready when you are, sir!" She barked, yanking the charging lever. Her voice was professional and calm. Upon hearing it, Marasco felt the small amount of worry that had been tensing his shoulders melt away. A smile tugged at his lips.

"Thirty seconds!" the pilot called. Marasco took one last look at his team, then moved to the back of the Cattlecar.

"Standby..." he hissed, holding his hand up as a fist. There was a rustle of cloth as ten soldiers got to their feet and a metallic clatter as they readied their weapons.

"Twenty seconds!"

Shaw stood up, slung her rifle, and reached up into the roof of the bay. Set into it was a large spool of fabricated hemp rope, which she grabbed and began unwinding.

"Ten...nine..."

Shaw handed Marasco the front of the rope, and he quickly clipped it onto the fabricated leather harness he wore over his uniform. Shaw then took up her original place at the side and looked out over the open ramp of the bay, checking the drop zone for any unforeseen problems.

"Five...four..."

Marasco turned and faced his squad, the thick rope sitting snuggly in his palm.

"Alright you failed mutations!" He shouted, beginning the traditional pre-drop speech. "Time to prove we are the fittest!"

"Rah!" His men chanted.

"Zero!" the pilot called. "You're clear!"

"Go go go!" Shaw roared, waving Marasco forward. Without hesitation, he jumped.

Silence pressed in on him like some big, daft beastie. His heart pounded in his ears and his breath rattled his ribs. The rope hissed out of its coil, pulled downward by his body weight.

_This_ was his favorite part of any operation; that first leap of faith into the unknown, the only thing between him and death an inch of rope and the reflexes of the Cattlecar pilot above him.

It made him feel unstoppable.

He couldn't help but let out a howl of joy, one echoed by Click from his breast pocket.

Movement on the ground below him. Someone was walking towards the point Marasco was aiming for. Someone wearing the uniform of a German general infantry Private. An enemy.

No way to stop, and no way to adjust course. If he shifted his weight, the centrifugal force going up the rope would knock his men clean off. Only one thing to do; land.

Marasco straightened his body, streamlining it and accelerating.

The Clanker Private looked up, mouth open in shock.

Marasco didn't give him time to make a noise.

There was a wet _crunch_ as Marasco's boots slammed into the Clanker's upturned face. Even through them Marasco could feel multiple important things break in the man's body.

He was dead before both he and Marasco hit the ground.

The Sergeant rolled of the dead man and gave the corpse a quick shove away from his landing zone. It wouldn't do for his men to land on a body like he did, after all.

Once the area was clear, Marasco pulled something out of his ammo pouch. He tied it to the end of the rope he had pulled down with him and rammed it into the earth with his boot.

With the rope secured, he stepped back and unholstered his shotgun, waiting for any more unlucky Germans to show up while the rest of his men joined him on the ground.

Unfortunately for him (but thankfully for the Germans) the LZ stayed empty. The eleven soldiers descended from the Cattlecar without trouble.

"Starting the party without us, sir?" Shaw asked as her boots touched ground. She jerked her head over at the dead man, though Marasco could have guessed what she meant without clarification.

"He got in my way." Marasco shrugged and watched as the last of his men landed. "You wanna do an intel sweep?"

"You know it." Shaw knelt down next to the German and started riffling through his uniform. Behind Marasco, the rest of First Squad descended.

The moment the last man hit the ground, the rope followed them down, cut loose by the Cattlecar pilot. The gyro accelerated away, leaving a long trail of smoke as its engines ran at full power.

"Alright!" Marasco called, calling his men's attention to him. "Form up on me!"

The group hustled to his position, with the exception of Shaw, who was still frisking the dead German, and the last man off the Cattlecar, who was coiling up the rope for possible later use. Marasco knelt and started scratching a crude map in the dirt. He paused, waiting for Shaw to rejoin the group.

"Anything important?" He asked. The Corporal shook her head.

"Nothing. Just some standard grunt in the wrong place at the wrong time. Though his papers say he was attached to the 31st Semi-Armored Division, so we've likely got walkers in the area. Probably some of those new Centaurs."

"Unsurprising. Clankers always have walkers with them" Marasco noted calmly.

"Centaur" was the American code name for the most commonly seen German scout walker, which had first appeared weeks after the war started. Ugly things, so-named due to the fact that the machine's pilot sat at the front with his upper torso poking out of the driver's seat.

"Anything in his gear?" Marasco continued.

"Nothing new or fancy. Gew 98 bolt action with a dozen mags, Luger pistol pistol, and a couple spud mashers."

"Spud masher" was, of course, military slang for the standard German fragmentation grenade, due to its uncanny resemblance to the food preparation tool.

Marasco nodded and looked back down at the dirt map to begin his briefing.

"Here's the plan." He explained. "Our package in the penthouse of the Plaza Athénée."

He jabbed his finger at a rough square, crudely titled "hotel", and then at the actual building, which could be seen rising above the roofs around them.

"There's two main roads leading to it. We're going to split up and take both to increase stealth. We get packed up all together, all it take is one walker shot and we're outta the gene pool. Shaw, take your half of the squad and head that way."

He pointed to the right, down an alleyway leading to a main street, while indicating the same street on his map. "I'll take the other half and the other street."

He indicated the other direction, which lead through a deserted store to an almost identical road, with the exception that this one was partially on fire.

"You run into _anything_, call it in."

"Copy sir. Meet you at the hotel." Shaw saluted, then called to her team. "Come on, you meatsacks! The Army ain't paying us by the hour!"

She hurried down the alleyway, five of the Darwin's following her. Marasco turned to the remainder of the squad and indicated that they should stay behind him.

"Watch my six. I got point." He ordered, in case any of them had missed his hand signals.

"Yes sir!" One of his men shouted. Marasco nodded and hefted his shotgun.

They moved slowly through the shop and then the street, checking every corner and open door for anyone alive, friend or foe. Nothing moved except the racing shadows from the several fires that were stuttering in the area. This section of Paris seemed to have gone through some recent, extensive combat. The buildings around Marasco's squad were in bad shape, blackened and blasted and broken.

Marasco edged forward, sweeping from right to left, putting his peripheral vision to extensive use. His team checked doors, alleys, and the collapsed remains of buildings. Some of the doors, he noticed, showed signs of forced entry, by both manual door breach and simple demolishing by walker.

"This ain't good, man." Another one of his troops muttered, worry obvious in her voice and her death grip on her M1903 rifle. "If this is the outskirts, I'd hate to see what the Clankers are doing to the center."

"Hoorah." Someone else added, shaking his British-licensed Short Magazine Lee Enfield Mark III in agreement.

"Focus." Marasco snapped. The two troopers shut up and kept moving.

It quickly became apparent that he needn't have said anything, as far as stealth was concerned. Five minutes of walking produced no contacts other than a stray dog hurrying across the road.

"Broken chains." Marasco muttered. He started to feel slightly worried. By now he'd expected to see _some_ Clankers, especially if there was a whole semi-armored division in the area. And if not them, then probably some Parisians, either alive or dead.

But there was nothing; it was like a ghost town.

"Sarge, I got something!" Someone called from the rear of the formation. Private Carmen Razack, First Squad's machine gun operator.

Marasco turned to face the girl, who he saw was kneeling down to look at something. Her assigned weapon, a Lewis light machine gun, was at her side, stock pressed to the earth.

Normally, of course, the Lewis was fired from a stationary position, with a bipod, or from the seat of an areoplane. But Razack (in typical Darwin's Fist fashion of going far above "normal") insisted on using the weapon as if it were a standard rifle, despite the weight of the weapon and recoil of it's cartridge. She'd gotten quite good with it too.

"Cover us! Five meter spread!" Marasco called to the rest of his squad. "What you got?" He asked, kneeling down beside her.

"Mud tracks. Looks like a standard German combat boot, and…well, see for yourself." She shrugged.

Marasco nodded and looked closer. Sure enough, he could see the distinctive, clean outline of a standard German combat boot in the swiftly-drying mud puddle. Next to it-

"Le Meilleur party slipper." Razack muttered knowledgeably. This was her area of expertise; if it was fashion related, Carmen Razack knew it.

"Top dollar too. Someone _real_ important came this way." She thought her sentence over, then added "Or just some fancy-boots frog with a lot of green to burn."

"Not on their own power either." Marasco noted. His fingers traced a smear of mud that led from the puddle down the street, in the same direction they'd been heading in. "Looks like whoever they were, they got dragged by that Clanker at one point or another."

"And they weren't alone." Razack pointed again, indicating still more track. Another set of party slippers, some kind of gentleman's riding boot, soft-leather shoes...in other words, the kind of footwear you'd see a fashionable French party-goer wearing.

And next to them; more Clanker boots.

"So...what's this mean, Sarge?" Razack asked, no obviously worried.

"It means we need to move _now_." Marasco grit his teeth, then forced himself up with a grunt. Click, in his front pocket, echoed the noise happily before chuckling to itself.

"Darwin's! Double time it!" He ordered, waving his arm in the direction they were going to head, before moving that way himself. His team fell into step behind him, their gear rattling like hail on a tin roof as they ran to catch up to him.

Marasco reached into his pocket and pulled out Click. He pressed the creature's dorsal fin, and the dolphin stiffened in his hands, its mixture of cetacean and insect life chains reaching out to others of its species, ready to transmit his orders.

"Corporal Shaw!" Marasco barked at the fab. Click made a soft humming noise, then a happy-sounding squeak as it connected with Shaw's dolphin.

"Sergeant!" Click spoke with Shaw's voice. "What's the situation?"

"Trouble. Looks like the Clankers are rounding up civilians. Even the ones that don't fight back."

"Clart! When did they change their MO from "don't bother us, we don't bother you"?"

"Don't know, don't care, doesn't matter. Meet up at the next point of-"

Marasco paused as his squad literally ran into an intersection. Shaw's group came by a moment later, the Corporal holding her own memory dolphin out.

"Convergence." Marasco said pointlessly, slipping Click back inside his uniform. Shaw dipped her head in the smallest of nods (now that they were in combat, salutes to superior officers were forbidden, less an enemy sniper figure out who to pick off first).

"Report." Marasco ordered, more to actually be doing something than any intel Shaw might have.

"Same thing as you, sir. Dead bleeding nothing. No Clankers, no civies. Not even a body." She glanced around, furrowing her brow. "I don't like this at all, sir. Permission to be creeped out?"

"Later. I'll join you." Marasco checked his bearings. They were on the main road leading towards the hotel. They could see it now; or, rather, what remained of it. It had obviously taken walker fire and (unless Marasco's eyes deceive him, which they shouldn't) aerial bombs.

But he was too far away to make out anything else, such as if the suddenly prisoner-taking Germans had managed to get to their package before they did.

"Shaw, field glasses." He ordered. The Corporal handed him a pair of binoculars (good, solid hybrid ones, not the pathetic Clanker ones the rest of Europe thought so impressive) and pressed them to his eyes.

For a moment, everything was blurry. Then the small, fabricated bird brain inside the casing stabilized the image.

The hotel jumped into view, bringing out things Marasco had missed the last time he'd looked at it. The damage he'd seen from afar was only the beginning; most of the windows were gone, the exterior was missing large chunks of itself (including most of the western side, which seemed to have avalanched into the courtyard), and there seemed to be a small plume of smoke coming from one of the middle level rooms.

But, thankfully, it seemed that, for the moment, the Germans had yet to get inside. Meaning that, more than likely, Marasco's package was still at the very top.

Marasco swung the glasses upward, examining the higher floors. These seemed in better shape, with only small holes and several windows still retaining their glass.

"Sarge, 10 o'clock." Shaw called out, indicating something that she thought he should see. Marasco adjusted his view, instantly spotting what the Corporal pointed out.

A small group of Germans, moving swiftly towards the base of the hotel. Lumbering along behind them was a Centaur scout walker, one of the newer combat ones armed with machine guns as well as the mortar seen at the start of the war. The group was a good couple hundred meters away, but closing with the hotel worryingly fast.

"Looks like we were right about the walkers being in the area." Shaw muttered.

"Confirmed." Marasco growled. To the rest of the unit, he called "Pack it up, Darwin's! We need to get down there NOW!"

"Sir yes sir!" His team called back. Marasco tossed the glasses to Shaw and quickly moved out.

For the next five minutes, the only sounds that came from First Squad were those of loose gear rattling and the steady breathing of the troopers as they sprinted. It was an easy run; a mere one hundred meters slightly uphill from their start point to the hotel. They'd all done much harder sprints in training and the three previous missions that Darwin's Fist had been assigned. They covered the distance quickly and efficiently, without complaint or talking.

The Hôtel George Cinq's rear entrance loomed suddenly before them, and Marasco clenched his fist, indicating for the rest of his unit to stop. They did so.

Marasco paused, listening. Faintly, obscured by distance, the building in front of them, and the pounding of his own heart, he could hear the tread of boots and the grumble of the walker.

So the Germans were still coming towards them. So much for his hope they had another target.

Marasco tried the door, found it locked from the inside.

"Someone get that door open!" He ordered.

"Got it!" Razack called out. She leveled her Lewis at the door's hinges. Marasco and the rest of the group had just enough time to cover their ears and look away before she opened fire with a sound like tearing canvas.

.303 caliber ammunition shredded wood and metal hinges like they were paper and tin. Hot brass spat from the machine gun's ejection port and rattled across the concrete, one casing clipping Marasco's hand as it passed. Devoid of its supports, the entire door collapsed forward, slamming First Squad with a wave of air.

"Clear!" Razack called, lowering the Lewis.

Even before it had settled, Marasco was charging over it and into the hotel, pistol raised and sweeping. After a moment, during which no Clankers came out to challenge them, he lowered it and observed his surroundings.

The door lead to the kitchen, or what had once been the kitchen before a German 88 millimeter high-explosive shell had opened most of the back wall. Now it was a mess of busted metal, scorched wood, and blood from a sugar-glazed pig that sat on the counter.

First Squad ignored all of this (except for Shaw, who took a long, understandable glance at the pig) and hurried through the only visible door, which lead to the main dining hall. It, too, was in bad shape, though still more intact than the kitchen. The damage here seemed to have been caused by the people within, rather than the Clankers. As Marasco hurried through it, he could see that it had been set for a dance or party of some kind, but had been evacuated rapidly.

Tables ringed an open center area, which had the look of a dance floor. A possibility backed up by the presence of a now-deserted musician's platform littered with instruments, one of which (a cello) had crushed an unfortunate fabricated poodle as it fell. Trays of finger foods and glasses of light drinks were everywhere, and every once in awhile there would be a bell-like noise as one of First Squad crushed fine crystal or china under their combat boots. A larger table, obviously meant for the pig they'd seen in the kitchen, lay on its side. In the far corner, what might have once been an ice statue now lay in many slowly-melting pieces on the ground.

Over all, the room looked like the offspring of a mix-and-mingle ball like the one he'd been to a week earlier and a tornado.

"Party agenda; wine, nibbles, and a Clanker attack." Shaw muttered to herself. Marasco allowed himself a quick smile at the statement.

First Squad exited the main room through the main doors, one of which was now barely handing on its hinges, and ended up in the reception area. To their left were the massive front doors of the hotel. To their right, the reception desk (also massive) and the staircase that lead to the upper floors. Straight ahead, the hallway that led to ground-floor rooms. Once again, there was no one there. But judging from the mass of food-based footprints on the floor, the stampede from the party had come through and gone out the front doors.

Marasco paused, taking in the details of the room. It was quiet inside, but beyond the main doors he could hear the rhythmic footsteps of the Centaur, much to close for comfort.

"Jackson, Mason, mine those doors." He ordered, picking out two of his squad at random. The two chosen soldiers hurried forward without complaint, pulling limpet mines from their uniforms. These weren't the standard "limpet mines" used by the Clankers for anti-ship work against other Clankers and occasionally Darwinist krakken tenders. Those were nothing more than bombs with magnets in them. These were Darwinist mines, actual limpets fabricated to contain the life chains of the bombardier beetle. When they were tripped, two reactive chemicals mixed in their body cavity and they exploded with enough force to kill anything living near them and severally damage a walker. Especially if some of the caustic by-product of the reaction got into their gears.

Their job finished, Jackson and Mason hurried back, not wanting to be caught in the mines self-activation.

Seconds after they got clear, the limpets woke up, shocked from their safety hibernation by the lack of body heat against their shells. Quickly, like the beasties they had been created from, they bored into the wood of the doors in a shower of splinters, making a small pocket that their shells fit snuggly into.

At least, until the Clankers opened the doors and disturbed them.

"Nice job." Marasco commented, observing the two soldier's work. Both doors were now riddled with limpets. "Now let's get moving before those Germans set them off."

Befitting his own orders, Marasco turned and hurried up the main staircase behind them. Their package was up, on the fourth and final floor of the hotel, so they had to go up. And that's what stairs were for.

The steps were made of fabricated wood and covered with fine carpet. Unfortunately, they'd been made for well-to-do guests, not twelve rapidly-moving soldiers in full combat gear, and the sound of splintering wood and tearing fabric followed First Squad as they climbed the stairs.

Hard clart, Marasco thought. This is what the French got for not being fighters.

The staircase lead to a landing on the second floor. Twin smaller stairways led off from it at 90 degree angles, and straight ahead was the main hall of the hotel. From here, Marasco could see an apparently endless line of doors stretching down out of sight.

Directly in front of that hall, however, was an elevator. A blistering fancy one at that, all gold and brass and glass. The shaft it rested in was all glass as well, and Marasco couldn't help but wonder how it hadn't shattered during the shelling of the hotel.

More importantly, it seemed that this elevator was the only way to get up to the penthouse, which was on the fifth floor. The twin staircases apparently only went up to the fourth. There was probably a secondary fire staircase (even the French weren't dumb enough not to put escape routes in their buildings) but that would take time to find. Time which they certainly didn't have.

Unfortunately, it looked like the elevator wasn't big to be able to carry all of First Squad. It could probably have handled six drunken couples heading to the penthouse for a night of Darwinist pleasures, but not twelve muscular soldiers weighed down by weaponry, ammo and armor. And they didn't have enough time for two trips.

To make matters worse, on the way down it would have to hold whoever the package consisted of as well.

Marasco hadn't made Sergeant by his looks however. He quickly thought up a solution.

"Shaw, Razack, Johnson, on me!" He ordered, waving his hand. "The rest of you, say here and hold this floor until I return. Wyatt, you're in command."

"Yes sir!" Private First Class Thomas Wyatt called to Marasco. "Ain't no Clanker scum getting past us!"

Marasco nodded to him in approval, then mashed the button to open the elevator. He climbed in, followed by the Corporal and the twin Privates.

The inside of the elevator was somehow fancier than the outside. The metal that made up most of the walls and all the ceiling was engraved with motifs, including two rather hefty looking female angels holding a life chain between them as a backdrop to Charles Darwin holding a glass tube up to the sun.

Marasco knew the scene well; The First Fabrication, Darwin's original successful attempt to make new life.

Above that scene was, ironically enough, a small perch that obviously belonged to the lift operator. Probably a fabricated monkey of some form, which made the elevator rise and fall by manipulating a small lever that sat near the perch. Unsurprisingly, it was empty. The fab must have fled with everyone else.

Not that it was going to slow Marasco down. He reached up and manipulated the up/down lever, sliding it until it clicked into and upward position. The elevator began to rise. Below, Marasco could easily hear the sounds of an electric motor running. Probably hydrogen powered, like those used on most Darwinist airships.

"Goin' up." Private Johnson noted quietly. Razack laughed a one-note sound.

"Rah to that, Cave," she said. The two bumped their fists together.

Marasco smiled to himself; this was part of the reason he'd picked the two Privates to follow him and Shaw up. Carmen Razack and Cave Johnson Jr. were what you could call a "dream team". Two soldiers so in sync with each other they were practically one person, operating with maximum efficiency. In the case of those two, the only way they could have been more in sync with each other is if they shared life chains. Which, to a certain extent, they actually did; during training, Razack had been badly injured in a live-fire exercise and received a blood transfusion from Johnson's older sister Chell.

That synchronization was part of the reason Shaw was there as well; Like Johnson and Razack, Marasco and Shaw worked exceedingly well together. It was part of the reason Marasco had made her his Corporal over the half-dozen other viable candidates.

There was a small _ding_ noise as the elevator came to a stop at the penthouse floor. The doors started to open, but Marasco pressed the override button, forcing them shut again. He peered out through the glass, checking the hall for any sign of danger. It seemed deserted; except for a large puddle of what Marasco realized was blood down at the end of the hall. Judging from the position of the puddle near a window, and the broken glass that surrounded it, it looked like at some point an unfortunate soul had decided to check out something on the hotel's front lawn and had been hit by a sniper. Not a lethal shot, apparently; a small trail of red led off towards the door near the window.

Other than the blood, the fourth floor was silent and just as lifeless as the once below it.

Cautiously, Marasco opened the door, hating how loud it sounded. Slowly, he stepped out of the lift, Razack, Johnson and Shaw falling into step behind him.

True First Squad form; even without him telling them too, his troops fell into the most effective covering line. Marasco in front with his shotgun and pistol, Razack covering him with her Lewis, Johnson's M1903 backing them both up, and Shaw's EDR 1 watching their back.

Slowly, they proceeded. Marasco paid special attention to the few doors they passed, the fear of a squad of Clankers bursting out of one guns blazing all too real in his mind.

As he walked, he counted off the room numbers in his mind, slowly counting down to the one MacPherson had provided him with.

701…703…705…

There. Room 707. That was the one that the package was in.

It also looked like the room the sniper's victim had been dragged into. Which meant that there was at least two people in side, but that was about all the intel they had.

On the other side of the door could be their target…or a whole bunch of Clankers.

Only one thing for it then.

He took a deep breath, then waited for his team to form up behind him. When they did, Marasco started to remove most of his combat gear, including Click, who he handed to Shaw. The dolphin happily crawled onto the Corporal's shoulder, observing the Sergeant with its tiny black eyes.

"Going in sterile?" Razack queried softly. Marasco nodded and continued to disarm.

"Got no idea who or what's on the other side of this door." He muttered. This close to the target, they couldn't raise their voices, lest a hostile on the other side learn they were coming and spring a trap. "I don't want any mistakes made. By us or whoever we're here to save."

"Going sterile" was standard procedure for situations like this. It meant stripping clean of anything and everything that might prove useful to the enemy so that, should things go badly wrong, all they would get would be a uniform and maybe a handgun. Nothing important, like a fab.

"Copy." Razack said, moving back slightly. She took a kneeling stance, pressing her Lewis to her shoulder. "I've got you covered."

"Confirmed." Johnson added, pulling something yellow from his uniform. Marasco instantly recognized a Combustible Lemon. He couldn't help but smile; it was fitting that Johnson would have one of the explosive devices with him, considering his dad was man who'd ordered it fabricated.

Shaw paused, giving Marasco a look that clearly stated she thought it should be her doing going through the door. Marasco shook his head, and she backed off. But not before scowling at him, a look he promptly ignored.

He finished removing his gear. Now, all he had on was his uniform, helmet, and his 1911, which he drew. After checking the chamber to make sure it was loaded (it was), he flipped off the safety and pointed the gun at the ground.

He glanced at his team and gave them a weak smile.

"Here goes nothing." He said.

With that, he gripped the handle of the door and pushed it open, raising his pistol as he did.

He braced himself, expecting to feel German lead tear into his flesh. But no bullets came, and after a moment Marasco realized that the room seemed to be empty. The Sergeant lowered his pistol and breathed a quick sigh of relief.

Then he straightened and called "Flash!"

That was his half of the sign-counter-sign identification protocol for this mission. His target would know the proper response.

A moment later, it came;

"Blink!"

Marasco stiffened; that was the proper response, but the voice it was called in stirred something in his mind. It was female, calm despite the situation. And very, VERY familiar.

He inhaled reflexively, and a wash of scents entered his nose; sweat, blood, the metallic smell of human fear, smoke...and a scene he remembered from the party a week ago.

You have got to be kidding me, Marasco thought to himself as a form rose from behind a desk at the back of the room. One that wearing a rather pricey looking Darwinist party dress and clutching a notepad to her breast.

"Sergeant Marasco." Adela Rogers said. "How nice to run into you again."


	4. Chapter 3

Darwin's Fist

Chapter 3

Marasco looked in mild surprise at Rogers. Her appearance here wasn't a massive surprise; he'd known she was here in Paris (they'd exchanged letters, after all), but the fact that she was _here_, at the top of a bombed-out hotel where he was supposed to pick up a high-priority package was interesting

He didn't let any of it show. Instead, he simply stated "Miss Rogers. The feeling is...mutual."

"As courteous as always, Sergeant." The reporter replied. She sounded like she always did, defiant and fearless, but Marasco could she was on edge. Her shoulders were hunched, and she was shivering slightly. Unsurprising. If the state of her dress was any indication, she'd been through hell recently.

Strangely, Marasco actually felt a little sorry for her. He quickly shoved the feeling away into some useless part of his mind.

"Never hurts to be." He replied. "Now, may I ask exactly how you managed to get here?"

"Luck." The reporter replied. "Oh, and one of your Fist Intelligence agents ran into me at the party and dragged me up here."

Marasco nodded, somewhat satisfied. Everything Rogers said so far made sense; he'd heard that Intelligence (nicknamed "Darwin's Eyes") had people in the area. And though MacPherson had never told him straight out, he suspected that the package he'd been sent to retrieve was one or more of those agents.

"He here?" He asked, scanning the room for any sign of Roger's mentioned agent. The reporter shook her head.

"Not any more. He got us up here, told us to wait, and then this random group of what I assume were his allies came up and they left together."

Marasco stiffened, worry filling his limbs.

"You see what they looked like?" He probed.

"Yes. One was a girl, about your age. Red hair, green eyes, rather attractive. The other two were men, and one of them I swear was part gorilla he was so massive. The other one was thin and pale, looked like he was 13, but he obviously wasn't."

Marasco nodded, satisfied. He knew the descriptions of Rogers had given him. Darwin's Fist Intelligence Squad Echo, consisting of Agents Kimberly, Fowl, and Butler. And the agent who picked up Rogers must have been their leader, Surgeon.

"Alright. Hold on." Marasco turned and gave a high-pitched whistle, the sign that the room as clear. The door opened and Shaw, Johnson and Razack quickly filed in, weapons at the ready.

"Clear!" Razack called, as per standard procedure. "And we got survivors!"

"Good, at least this mission won't be a tota-" Shaw stopped, noticing Rogers.

The reporter seemed to recognize the Corporal as well.

"Hester?" She whispered, sounding in shock.

"Rogers." Shaw growled. There was a click of a safety being taken off, and Marasco swung to see his Corporal training her EDR at the reporter, who shirked back in fear. Johnson and Razack swung to aim as well, following their superior.

"Stand down, Shaw!" Marasco barked, grabbing the barrel of Shaw's rifle and forcing it down. "She's a friendly."

"Says you, _sir_." Shaw replied, more venom in her voice than Marasco had ever heard directed at him. The other two soldiers lowered their weapons readily, looks of relief crossing their faces.

"Yes, I _do_ say, Corporal." Marasco growled back. "Now stand _down_."

Shaw glared at him, but relaxed. "Yes sir." The words sounded like she was forcing them out.

Marasco turned from Shaw back to Rogers. The reporter looked shaken and much paler than before, but Marasco put that down to having a anti-walker rifle pointed at her face.

"Anyone else here? Or did Surgeon only grab you?" He asked.

"Surgeon?" Rogers asked. Even her voice sounded weaker.

"The agent who brought you here. His call-sign is Surgeon. Did he bring anyone else?"

"No. I mean, he didn't bring anyone else, but there were people here already." Rogers seemed to regain some of her courage, and her voice grew stronger again.

Marasco nodded. "Where are they now?" He asked.

"Hiding. The moment they heard you coming they all hid. We thought you might be more Germans." She turned, then called "Its safe, come on out! They're American soldiers!"

The sound of several held breaths being released filled the room, and just about every place big enough to hide a person opened to reveal another survivor. In moments, there were three more people mulling about with Rogers, all in different states of shock. Rogers quickly introduced them as Jeremie Belpoua, Aelita Hopper, and "Mercy" Lynch.

Marasco scanned them all, making sure there weren't any threats among them. There weren't; nothing but three random Parisians who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jeremie and Aelita weren't even adults, but a teen couple in party clothes who huddled in each other's arms with fear in their eyes. Aelita looked so frail Marasco though she would snap under a good breeze, a frailty not helped by her light-pink hair. Jeremie looked somewhat stronger, with a similar hair and eye coloration mix to Marasco himself, blond and blue, and Marasco would have been slightly worried about him if he hadn't been wearing massive glasses.

Lynch looked like she was made of sterner stuff, all dark hair and eyes, and had the posture and clothing of an off-duty nurse or medical student. But she was still just as harmless.

But the man who climbed out of the wardrobe at the far end of the room was anything but.

Before Marasco could react, Shaw howled "Malone!" and charged. She grabbed the unfortunate man by the scruff of his shirt and tossed him across the room. He landed at Marasco's feet. Instinctively, the Sergeant placed his foot down on his chest, making sure he couldn't go anywhere.

He glanced down, making sure Shaw's howl had been a positive identification. It had been. The man currently under his boot was Edward "Eddie" Malone, reporter and (in Marasco's option) waste of life chains.

"Ah, Sergeant Marasco, I presume." Malone said, not sounding at all like there was a combat boot currently on his ribs.

"Mr. Malone. Why am I not surprised you're here as well?"

"Perhaps because I like to be where the action is?" Malone suggested. Marasco growled and gave Malone a shove with his boot.

"Oh, yes, he's here as well," Rogers said, a couple seconds late. "He was with me when your "Surgeon" found me and he took him along as well.

"Brilliant," Marasco growled. "As if you weren't bad enough."

"Well, you could always leave him behind..." Rogers suggested. Marasco snorted.

"The el-tee would have my skin for a wall hanging if I did that."

From Shaw's shoulder came a chirping noise; Click, receiving an incoming message.

Shaw took the dolphin off her shoulder and tossed it to Marasco. The Sergeant raised Click up to answer, but paused.

"Razack, Johnson, check over the survivors. Anyone's injured, deal with them. Shaw, head out to that window and keep an eye on that Clanker group. They engage the rest of the unit, provide cover fire."

"Yes, sir," Shaw said, sounding relieved. She hurriedly left the room, checking over her ammunition supply as she did.

"Copy." Razack, who in addition to being the squad's machine gunner also doubled as the medic, and Johnson moved to check over the five other people in the room, starting with the teens. Lynch joined them, confirming Marasco's suspicions that she had at least some medical training.

Marasco raised Click to eye hight and gave it a squeeze.

"Marasco, go ahead," He said.

"Sergeant." The dolphin spoke with Lieutenant MacPherson's clipped, precise tones. "Might I get a SITREP?"

"Yeah," Marasco replied, glancing around. "We're at the top of the hotel, but you're "package" got picked up by Intel Echo and there's nothing here but a bunch of unfortunate civies. Oh, and two dead meat reporters."

"Hmmm...Rogers and Malone, I assume." MacPherson's voice took on a slight edge of amusement.

"Solid copy. Should I scrub the mission?"

"Negative, Sergeant." MacPherson voice became authoritative again. "I have a new directive for you. Get those civies out of there. They were right in the middle of this attack. They might have intel we can use. I rerouting a Cattlecar to retrieve you, ETA is ten minutes."

"Copy that," Marasco grumbled, not particularly happy with this new order. But there wasn't anything he could do to change it, so he steeled himself to carry it out. "Razack and Johnson are looking over the civies now. We'll get them back to you in one piece, ma'am."

"Of that I have no doubt, Sergeant. I will see you back aboard _Dreadnought_. MacPherson out."

Click fell silent, then looked at Marasco. The Sergeant ignored the dolphin, putting him in his coat pocket again.

"Well?" He asked the two Privates. Razack gave him a thumbs up.

"Everyone alive looks like they're still in one piece. Cases of shock all around, and a couple cuts and bruises, but nothing life-threatening. Don't except these two to be talking much either. Looks like they both have temporary post-traumatic vocal dislocation." She indicated the two teens, who were still huddled together, faces pale. Marasco understood their feelings. He'd had the same problem for about a week during his training, as had many Darwin's. Thrust someone young and vulnerable into a situation where they need to be quiet or die, and they'd be just that even after the danger passed.

Razack's face suddenly fell, then she pointed behind her. Marasco noticed a pair of sheets he'd missed before, one of which was stained with blood. From under it poked a pair of shoes. Marasco knew a corpse when he saw one.

"Got two KIA as well. The other half of the school group that included Jeremie and Aelita here. First one's William Dunbar, looks like he took some shrapnel from that shell downstairs. Dead before he hit the ground. The other one's Elizabeth Delmas, she took a sniper shot to her chest, probably from the window out there. Dead in seconds."

She shook her head and sighed. "Splicing Clankers."

"Hoorah." Johnson agreed.

"Then let's make them pay." Marasco growled. "Get these civies moving. We've got a Cattlecar to catch." He paused, then ordered "Leave the dead. No point dragging extra weight."

Razack and Johnson nodded, then set about getting the civilians on their feet and ready to move. Marasco glanced at Rogers.

"You good to move?"

"Most certainly." The reporter replied, collected as ever now that things had calmed down slightly for her. "This is certainly going to make quite the story."

"Worry about you're story when you're out of the combat zone," Marasco muttered. "Just cause we're safe now doesn't mean we're going to be that way forever."

"Obviously," Rogers said, voice betraying no concern at all. "And perhaps, when this is over, I might be able to get-"

"No interviews." Marasco said firmly. "May I remind you that we are at war, Miss Rogers? I don't have time to answer questions."

"Pity." Rogers ignored Marasco's harsh tone and proceeded to fix her hair, which had come loose at some point, most likely during her rush to their current possition with Surgeon. Marasco promptly ignored her, turning to the rest of the group.

"Stand too, we need to be be Oscar Mike before-"

A series of dull "booms" that shook the floor, and everyone stumbled. From outside came screams in German voices, followed closely by Private Wyatt's voice howling "Eat it, Fritz!" above the clatter of blot-action rifles and the nattering of at least one machine gun. A moment later the sound of Shaw's EDR joined it, an ear-aching "crack" that made all the Darwin's cringe. Another explosion rattled the floor, this one accompanied by the sound of stressed metal and small secondary explosions like firecrackers.

"Walker down!" Shaw called from outside. Marasco swore.

"The Clanker's are downstairs. Lets move!" He shouted, drawing his M1911 again and readying it. Razack and Johnson stood ready, and the three civilians moved behind them, Jeremie and Aelita holding each other tightly.

How cute, Marasco noted to himself.

"All of you, follow me," He ordered. "Razack, you're on point. Rogers, Malone, behind her. Johnson, you're with me. The rest of you, get behind me. Shaw brings up the rear. We're going to the roof."

Razack and Johnson nodded and took up their positions. The reporters and the civilians did the same, and in moments the unlikely group was heading out of the penthouse and out into the hall.

"Shaw, form up!" Marasco called to the Corporal, who was still by the window, apparently picking off targets of opportunity judging from the rhythmic firing of her rifle.

"Just...one more..." She muttered, pulling the trigger again. Another German screamed, but fell silent as Shaw fired for the last time. She pulled the rifle away from the window and fell into step with the group.

"Sarge, how we getting up?" Razack asked. "That elevator won't take us all, and I don't think it goes all the way to the roof."

"And what about the rest of the squad?" Johnson asked, face suddenly pale. "You aren't gonna just leave them behind are you?"

"Splice no!" Marasco barked. "Since when have I left even ONE man behind? We're taking the stairs. There's gotta be a fire stair to the roof, now that we have the time to find them. As soon as Wyatt's done wiping the floor with the Clankers, they take the elevator up and join us on the roof for extraction."

"Permission to tell them that personally?" Johnson asked, face brightening with the possibility of a fight.

"Granted. Help them wipe the floor too. That's an order."

"Yes sir!" Johnson broke off and headed for the elevator, fixing a bayonet to his M1903 as he did. He saluted as the lift carried him out of sight.

"Keep moving!" Marasco ordered the remaining group. They followed it willingly.

The stairs were, thankfully, clearly marked in French, Spanish, and English (all of which Marasco was quite fluent in) and the group hurried up them, the boots of the three remaining soldiers making the thin metal grating ring like a flawed church bell. Aelita's high-heeled shoes got stuck in the first one, forcing Shaw to grab the girl and heft her over her shoulder like a sack of flour up the remaining steps. Jeremie paused long enough to grab the shoe then jogged to catch up, making Marasco shake his head. He would have just left the shoe behind.

"Quick question, Sergeant," Malone asked quietly. Marasco was surprised he hadn't spoke up earlier; perhaps his rough treatment at Shaw's hands had knocked some of the aloofness out of him.

"It had better be," Marasco replied with a growl, teeth gritted.

"Just HOW exactly are we going to get off the roof?"

Shaw chuckled.

"We're going to fly, Malone. Flap our arms like birds till we reach England." She growled.

Malone's face turned pale. He actually believed Shaw. Marasco chuckled, but decided to be somewhat nice and explain his plan.

"Close, Shaw. We have a gyrothopter inbound to pick us up."

"A gyro? Surely something that flimsy can't take ALL of us..." Malone muttered. Shaw and Razack laughed openly at the man's ignorance.

"What, you think we're talking about some Clanker piece of clart?" Razack said with a grin. "Splice no. We've got a V-3 Cattlecar on the way."

"A...Cattlecar, you say?" This was Rogers speaking up now, reporter instincts aroused by new information. "I don't believe I've ever heard of a craft by that name before..."

Razack glanced at Marasco, looking for clearance to talk about the gyro. Marasco nodded; Cattlecar's weren't secret anymore. Letting the reporter know about them wouldn't reveal anything classified.

"They're new," Razack said enthusiastically. Unlike Marasco, she still enjoyed talking with reporters now that it was a-okay for the Fist to do so. "Recent Boeing creations. Bigger than anything before. Boxy, hence the name. Like a flying cattlecar, from a train line, you know. Same cargo capacity too. They're hybrid birds; part Clanker, part Darwinist, all effective."

"They sure are ugly though," Shaw added quietly.

"Not to me." Razack said with a shrug.

"Nor me," Marasco said honestly. To him, the sight of an approaching Cattlecar was one with few peers. A Cattlecar coming in meant you were either getting something to help you fight, or you were leaving the fight. Either one was good.

"Eye of the beholder, eh Sarge?" Razack asked with a shrug.

"Impressive." Malone said, eyes sparkling behind his glasses. He rubbed at his face, which was unsurprisingly sweat-covered. Marasco looked away in disgust.

"Wait till you've ridden in one." Shaw said darkly. Marasco made a small mental note to tell their rescue pilot to throw the bird around as roughly as they could. Let Malone's one memory of a Cattlecar ride be one of nausea and turbulence.

They reached the door to the roof, which Razack tried and found locked. With a grunt, she kicked it, and it flew off it's hinges and over the side of the roof, which Marasco could see was mere yards away.

"Clear." Razack called, moving out of the freshly created doorway. Everyone else followed swiftly, spreading out over the roof.

"Oh sweet mercy..." Rogers whispered as she looked around.

"Good Lord." Malone added, joining her.

Marasco and the Darwin's kept quiet, but their thoughts echoed the reporters exclamations.

Around them, Paris was burning. The plumes of smoke from earlier were thicker and more prevalent, the sounds of gunfire echoed from all directions, and off to their right the great metal needle of the Eiffel Tower was partially wreathed in fire. The top part was still aflame, great sheets of red and orange snapping and racing from the observation deck. Around it's midsection was wrapped the red-hot melted remains of an airship, a zeppelin from the looks of it.

"Burn in hell, Krauts." Razack noted, seeing the wreck for herself.

"Hell is too good for the Germans," a new voice replied. Marasco glanced over and saw it was Aelita. Apparently she'd shaken off her shock quicker than he thought.

Her eyes were hard as she looked out over what Marasco could guess was probably her city.

"You will make them pay for this, no?" She asked in accented, slightly broken English.

"In many painful ways." Marasco assured her in flawless French. Her eyes relaxed a little at hearing an American speak her own tongue.

"You speak French?" She asked in the same language, surprised.

"_Si_. And Spanish, French, Italian, German, Russian..." Marasco shrugged. "Any language that we might need in a fight."

Aelita nodded, eyes hard again.

"Good. If you wish me to help you avenge this, merely ask." She said. "I know others who will help at a moments notice as well."

"Not my call, but I'll send that up the chain of command." Marasco replied, fully intending to do so. "They'll probably be pretty happy to hear it though."

"Tell them we will die for our vengeance." Aelita said, voice stone cold. "THAT will impress them, no?"

Jeremie stiffened as she said it, and the two fell into a heated argument in rapid-fire French that Marasco left them too.

He moved off to join Shaw, who was at the edge of the roof looking down at the courtyard. Even from this hight, Marasco could see quite a few still bodies in German uniforms littering the entrance walkway, along with the still-smoking remains of the Centaur. It looked like Shaw's shot against it had hit the exposed fuel tank under right behind the driver and set it off, followed by it's ammunition bay.

The Sergeant noticed movement. One German, apparently still alive, was crawling towards the presumed safety of the trees to the side of the walkway.

"Got a live one, Shaw. Yours?"  
>"Of course." Shaw raised her rifle, sighted up, and fired in one movement. The German exploded as the 20mm round hit him square in the back, spraying red all over the walkway as his torso came apart.<p>

"Nice shot Corporal." Marasco noted, not at all put off by the German's gory demise.

Shaw nodded and grunted, and Marasco left her.

The sound of ringing steps echoed from the doorway to the fire stairs, and Marasco swung about, pistol ready in case it was more Germans.

It wasn't. Instead, it was Johnson and the other eight members of First Squad. Marasco glanced over them, glad to see no casualties or serious wounds among them.

"Status." He barked. Johnson grinned and saluted.

"Floor wiped, sir! 100 percent enemy casualties, zero on our side! Clean sweep!"

"Well done." Marasco congratulated. "Stand by for exfil."

"Yes, sir!" The soldiers shouted in unison, then fanned out over the roof, taking up defensive positions and cover wherever they could find it. Just because they were in the clear for now didn't mean they would stay that way forever.

Marasco went back to the edge of the roof, looking out over the burning city.

"Shaw, binocs again." He said. Shaw quickly handed him the fabricated binoculars once more, and Marasco put them to his eyes to scan the horizon.

Despite the apparent chaos and rampant firefights in the city if the sounds were anything to judge by, the area directly around the hotel were surprisingly quiet. Nothing moved other than the occasional collapsing building and falling tree.

The Sergeant tipped the glasses up towards the sky, looking around there as well. Nothing threatening, just a large number of startled city birds like pigeons and crows and other, fabricated birds with uses he could only guess at.

And, directly ahead; the unmistakable cross-section of a Cattlecar, heading straight for them. Large boxy body, practically nothing more than a cargo container with a cockpit welded to the front, hanging from a long boom with twin spinning blades, one on either end.

"Ride's here!" Marasco shouted, handing the glasses back to Shaw for safe keeping once more. "First Squad, stand TOO!"

"Hoorah!" His soldiers shouted as one. Then left their cover and formed up, a feeling of end-of-mission joy already in the air.

"Shape up! I want this clean and quick! Clear, washouts?" Marasco snapped. Now was no time to get sloppy. Just because the Cattlecar was in sight didn't mean they were home free yet. THAT would be when the Cattlecar set down inside it's hanger.

The Darwin's jumped to attention, weapons at ease.

"Sir yes sir, Sergeant Marasco!" The all barked. Marasco nodded.

"That's more like it." Marasco turned back.

Click chirped again, and Marasco gave it a squeeze.

"Marasco, go ahead."

"Sarge, Charlie Charlie 1-5. You ready for dust off?" Click spoke with a female voice, one with a Southern twang that Marasco knew well.

"Copy, 1-5. Ready and waiting." Marasco smiled as he recognized the voice. "Tripp, that you?"

"Course. Who else you think they would send to get you're sorry damp clart hole?"

Flight Officer Camile Tripp, nickname "Cammie". One of the best pilots in Darwin's Fist.

"I'd expect no one else too," Marasco replied with a grin. "We're ready for dust off as soon as you-"

He stopped, noticing something moving out of the corner of his eyes. He glanced over...

And saw something that made his blood chill to near freezing.

Just coming around the burning rubble of a housing block was another walker. This one was much bigger than the centaur, perhaps two or three times as much, and shaped more like a crab than a horse; six thick legs, aranged three on each side at equidistant intervals, all supporting an open-topped box-like command cab. And stored within; a quartet of Spandau machine guns, same as those on a Stormwalker or Stahl-Mann combat walker, linked to a steam-driven base.

"Splice! Ack-ack walker!" Shaw shouted, seeing it too.

"1-5, break off! Triple A walker inbound, 4 o'clock!"

Even as Marasco said these words to Click, the walker's spotter noticed the approaching gyro, and the quartet of Spandau's opened up with streaks of white.

Marasco stiffened, ready for the tracer fire to strike the Cattlecar and send it spinning out of control to it's fiery doom. But Flight Officer Tripp proved herself to be the best of the best once again, sliding her gyro to the side like a boxer sidestepping a punch. She retaliated, the twin newly-developed and even more recently installed Browning M1917 .30 caliber machine guns spewing their own tracers from the Cattlecar's nose down at the walker, which suddenly vanished into a white cloud as the crew deployed a steam curtain. From within the billowing cloud, Marasco could hear it's legs and motor running, driving the walker away from the deadly spray. Several of the Darwin's joined in with their M1903's, and Shaw fired a single anti-walker round at the retreating machine, but they were just out of range.

The rattle of spent brass echoed in the sudden quiet as Tripp's guns fell silent.

Marasco didn't realize he was squeezing Click in a death grip until the dolphin let out a small "ow..." noise. He relaxed his hand and the fab made a whooping noise.

"Sorry." He said apologetically. Click looked at him reproachfully (or about as reproachfully as a rat-sized talking dolphin could) then spoke with Tripp's voice again.

"1-5 to Marasco...Sarge, I don't think I can pick you up. That walker's still there, and I can't get a shot with that steam shooter it has." Tripp's voice was hesitant, and very unpleased sounding. Marasco could just see Tripp smashing her helmeted head against her windscreen in frustration, something that proved to be fact moments later as Click mimicked the noise of a coral-based fabricated helmet hitting glass.

"Understood. Get out of here, Tripp. Don't do anything stupid to get me. No heroics. Return to base."

"Alright, but I'll come back, just gotta load up a Big Fifty-"

"That's an ORDER, Flight Officer. Return to base and stay there. You come back for me, and I WILL stick you with a charge for insubordination and treason."

There was a long silence from the other end of the connection, but finally Tripp said "Solid copy, Sergeant. RTB at this time."

The Cattlecar banked away. As it passed where the walker had vanished to, Tripp fired a last, long burst of rounds, chewing up a tree and the sidewalk and striking at least a dozen hits against the hidden walker. Then the Brownings fell silent and the gyro accelerated away.

Marasco watched it go grimly.

"Oh dear." Rogers spoke quietly.

"No clart." One of the Darwin's muttered angrily.

Marasco ignored both then looked at Click again.

"MacPherson." He said to it. The dolphin squeaked, then spoke as the lieutenant.

"MacPherson, go ahead." It said.

"Marasco, ma'am. We've hit a snag. There's-"

"Anti-aircraft walker, yes. Just got the report from Tripp." MacPherson's voice was calm as ever, and Marasco found himself relaxing as he heard it. Just as he had during training, when he'd spend cold, damp nights in unheated barracks with her. "Do not fear, Sergeant. There is a contingency plan."

"I'm all ears." Marasco replied.

"You are not alone in Paris. Corporal Gossard and a Puma detachment of the First American Armored is retrieving supplies and non-essential personnel from our former main base. Link up with her unit and head to the secondary LZ. Charlie 1-5 will be there."

"Tank Girl's here too?" Marasco asked, once again surprised. It seemed like everyone he'd lost touch with from training was crawling out of the wood work now that the fire of full-on war was lit. First Surgeon, then Tripp, and now Corperal Rebbeca Gossard, nicknamed "Tank Girl" or "T.G." for her love of the vehicle bearing that title.

"Affirmative, Marasco." MacPherson sounded pleased. "And she is you're ticket out of hell. Now get to it, Sergeant. I'm waiting."

Click made a noise like it's name and relaxed. Marasco stuck it into his pocket and turned.

"Ready up, we're heading out." He told the rest of First Squad. "We have a new extraction point to get to."

This news elicited a series of sight and groans and complaints.

"You mean we busted our clart-holes to get to this perfectly good point, and now we have to go all the way back down?" Private Price complained. Marasco glared at the offending Private.

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean," He said quietly. "And if you complain about it again, you'll be carrying the lady reporter on the way down!"

He pointed at Rogers, who jerked up with a "who, me?" look plastered on her face. Price shut his mouth and nodded. Marasco grunted and motioned.

"Move!" He ordered, heading back towards the fire stairs. "Don't bother with the elevator, we'll walk down."

He entered the stair well and took them two at a time, the metal ringing with his footfalls. Behind him came the eleven soldiers, two reporters, two students, and the nurse. The stairs shook and rattled violently, but they didn't complain or threaten to break, so Marasco just kept going.

The climb down was boring compared to everything else that had happened that day, almost mind-numbingly repetitive. Marasco found himself going on autopilot as he climbed down, and as such was startled when he reached the ground floor. It wasn't enough to slow him though, and he hurried out into the street without delay. He stopped, catching his breath as the rest of the Darwin's and their five rescuees joined him.

The Sergeant looked around, waiting for their rides.

"Any minute now." He whispered. It was literally true; almost exactly sixty seconds after he spoke, the ground shuddered slightly, and from behind a near-by block came a procession of half a dozen rather peculiar medium-sized vehicles and one large one.

These weren't military vehicles in the standard sense; unlike most combat machines, which were walkers with legs, these vehicles, for the most part, used the rather archaic "wheel" to move, with the exception of the large one at the very front, which used treads. The smaller ones had almost cat-like appearances, with a sloped, organic body shape and a massive sloped windscreen, backed by an open interior and a trio of outwardly looking bench seats in the very back, except for two of the five, which sported a rotating platform with a single machine gun mounted on it. The large treaded one was the opposite, looking like a bunker or water tank with treads and a circular turret on top. Hence it's fitting official title "tank".

"I thought the Army had more advanced vehicles than this," Malone noted upon seeing the cavalcade. "Are those...WHEELS on those vehicles?"

"And treads. Like a tractor." Roger added, raising an eyebrow.

"The wheeled ones are officially called "Pumas", and yes those are wheels. Legs are overrated on a machine," Johnson said dismissively, jumping in to defend what was probably another investment project (if not full-on invention) by his father. "Wheels give you more stability, better movement on flat ground, and are 75 percent easier to service, maintain, and understand." He chuckled. "And treads...well, that tank over there? You can't tell, but she's so stable she's mounting FOUR 75mm guns and a couple Browning "Big Fifties" under all that armor. Which, might I add, is almost an inch thick and impenetrable to anything up to a 25mm round?"

This sales-pitch style speech coxed a couple dry laughs out of the group of Darwin's and a smile from Marasco.

"Nice pitch." He said quietly. "Now get ready to mount up."

He moved away from the group, towards the tank. As he approached, a recessed hatch on top of the turret opened with a hiss of escaping, heated air, and the vehicle's commander poked out.

Like many of the vehicle operators of both Darwin's Fist and the American military as a whole, the commander of this particular tank was female, and, also like many of the operators, she wasn't afraid to show it. She wore nothing but a white sleeveless cloth pullover soaked with sweat from the heat inside her vehicle and a steel helmet similar to Marasco's own with the legend "Tank Girl" scratched into it's surface, under from which poked several wiry strands of dye-colored hair. A fab-tabacco cigarette dangled from her lips, which twitched upwards as she smiled.

"Hey David," She said, taking a draw on the smoke. "Heard you could use a ride."

"Corporal Gossard." Marasco gave her a nod, refusing to acknowledge her easy lack of respect. "Yes, if it's not too much trouble. I have a date I'd rather not miss."

"Oh, sounds important." Gossard grinned broadly. "You better ride with me then."

"You got room in that tin can for one more?" Marasco glanced over the tank, which he knew was actually quite cramped despite it's size, filled with fuel and ammunition for it's four cannons as it was.

"Course. You know me. Its only me and Bogga in here," The Corporal replied, mentioning her vehicle's driver, another soldier Marasco remembered, Private Theodore Boggart. Marasco nodded.

"Then I think I will ride." He said. "Gimmie a moment."

He turned to the soldiers under his command and ordered "First Squad, mount up! Put the civilians in the troop Pumas, everyone else take whatever seats you can find!"

First Squad scrambled to follow his orders, and Marasco quickly climbed up the side of the tank towards the turret. Gossard ducked back down inside, clearing the way for the Sergeant to enter.

Inside the tank was like a sauna; it was mostly dark, illuminated in a few places by bioluminescence and miniature worm lamps, but the majority of it was wreathed in black. And it was hot; Marasco doffed his jacket moments after climbing in. Gossard directed him to a "seat" (really nothing more than a strap securely attached to the walls just under the turret) next to hers, which in a fully-manned tank would house the main machine gunner and spotter, the Browning M2 "Big Fifty" intended to be used by that person being directly in front of Marasco. He grabbed it for support and possible later use, knowing how brutal traveling in a tank could be.

"That Sarge Marasco?" A male voice came from deeper inside the vehicle.

"Who else would it be, Bogga?" Gossard replied. The voice grunted, then asked "We on the move?"

"Damn right!" the Corporal howled. Marasco grinned.

"Step on it, Private. We have a Cattlecar to catch."

With a grumble and a rattle that Marasco felt in his teeth and inner ear, the tank moved forwards. It was a ponderous movement, the sheer weight of the vehicle making it slow to accelerate. The only way Marasco was sure they were moving at all was the changing shadows just visible through the aiming slit for the machine gun. He shifted, and the turret turned on its greased ball-bearing base until it was looking out behind the tank.

Over the plumes of exhaust coming from the vents at the rear of the vehicle, Marasco could see the convoy behind it moving out in time with the tank, each Puma vehicle loaded to bear with soldiers and gear scavenged from the base Darwin's Fist had been stationed at until the day before.

"How far from the exfil point are we?" He asked no one in particular. It didn't matter which of the two other soldiers answered.

As it happened, Bogga provided the answer.

"Ten minutes, give or take. It's just beyond the last of these buildings. Why?"

"Just wondering." Marasco said. "Trying to decide if I should arm the machine gun or no."

"Do it, just to be safe." Gossard said. "Plus, I LOVE the noise that Browning makes when you cock it."

She grinned, and Marasco grinned too, before reaching up and pulling the charging handle on the M2. There was a deep "clunk" as a half-inch wide round slid into the barrel. Marasco put his thumbs on the twin lever-triggers at the back of the weapon and readied to fire.

For the first seven minutes of their ride, he didn't need to do anything. The trip happened in relative quiet, aside from the occasional grumble of "clart" from Bogga and Gossard as either one saw something that set them on edge. Considering how much hell Paris had been through know, there was no limit to the number of edge-causing things.

And then, just when Marasco thought things were going to go perfect, the Germans reapered.

His first indication that something bad was happening was when Bogga suddenly screamed "Brace brace brace!"

Before Marasco could ask for clarification, something smashed into the tank, knocking him forwards into the M2 and making the turret ring like a bell.

Pain flaired through Marasco's mouth and nose as something went "crack" in his face. He grunted, tasting blood.

"Clalpth!" He garbled, meaning to say "Clart" but having to speak through the sudden flow of blood that filled his mouth. His nose hurt, and his jaws ached. He was pretty sure the former was broken.

"What the mate was that?" Gossard asked, picking herself up from her own seat and rubbing her breasts and lower ribs, which had been forced against part of the tanks internal compartmentalization armor.

"Rocket of some kind, small one!" Bogga shouted with a groan. "Splicing gyrothoper came up on us from nowhere!"

"Clart hole!" Gossard spat. "You have any idea how long I spend getting the last dent out of this girl's armor?"

"I'm on it," Marasco said quietly. If there was a gyrothoper above them, he was in a good possition to take care of it. The "Big Fifty" was an adequate anti-air weapon even if it's rate of fire wasn't the same as lighter round-firing guns simply because its round was so splicing big. Half and inch of metal flying at twice the speed of sound would do a lot of damage to a mainly wooden vehicle.

Marasco spun the turret and leaned down, raising the M2 up towards the sky and searching for the gyro. Blue sky, white clouds, black smoke-there! The shimmering, spinning blades of a German gyrothopter.

Without hesitation, Marasco opened fire.

The sound of the Browning firing inside the tank was like lightning striking the same place over and over again. Massive, hot brass shells rained from it's side, several landing in Gossard's lap and making her cry and shift. As per standard, every fourth round in the M2's belt was a tracer, and Marasco could see just how close he was getting to the gryo. He walked the stream of fire up towards it until it connected.

The gyro shuddered, then fell, wood splintering instantly under the heavy rounds.

"Gyro's down!" Marasco called.

"Good, but we aren't done yet!" Gossard called.

Marasco blinked, then let go of the machine gun and stood up. After checking with Gossard, who gave him a nod, he popped open the hatch to get a better picture of what was going on.

It was chaos; it seemed like an entire Clanker company had come out of no where and were now attacking First Squad, who were fighting back. Bullets, grenades, and fabricated weapons were flying everywhere, and the two Pumas with machine guns were spraying everything and anything that moved with their weapons. Most of first Squad was joining in with their hand-held fire arms, making sure none of the Germans got close to them. So far, it was working.

Something hissed through the air and struck the armor plate half a foot from where Marasco was resting his hand. The Sergeant tracked the shot, spotted a soldier in German gear in a window at head-hight, and returned fire with his M1911. Three of his shots went just wide, but two caught the shooter in the shoulder and neck and he went toppling out of the window. Marasco made sure he stayed down with a last shot.

"We have to get out of here!" He shouted to Gossard and Bogga. "There's a splicing company of Clankers out here!"

"We're moving, we're moving!" Gossard shouted back irritably. She shifted, then climbed into the spot where Marasco had just been, manning the machine gun. She swung the turret to the right, and Marasco cried out as his balance shifted and he almost fell out of the tank.

"Fab mater!" He swore.

Gossard said something back to him, but he lost it under the roar of the M2, the Corporal using the huge weapon's rounds to rip open the side of a small shopping arcade to the right. A puff of red and a scream indicated that she'd managed to hit at least one enemy hiding there.

Marasco looked ahead, seeing that in mere yards the line of buildings came to an end, turning quickly to open fields and countryside.

"We're almost there!" He shouted gleefully. "Come on, give these Clankers a taste of-"

Marasco's world suddenly turned white, then black, then white again. More pain surged through him, a searing, tearing agony in the space between his neck and his right shoulder.

He howled, and his fingers let go of the tank. He fell, digits scrabbling on the smooth side of the tank's armor and finding no purchase. Or more accurately, his left fingers; his right weren't working correctly, twitching and jerking instead of moving.

The Sergeant hit the ground and rolled rapidly away, the image of his body being flattened to a pulp by the tank's treads forcing him away.

He stopped and panted, the pain in his shoulder almost blacking everything else out. He calmed and focused, fighting through the cloud of white to get back to reality. After a couple breaths, the pain became manageable, ignorable, and Marasco could check himself out.

A quick glance at his shoulder showed what he expected; he'd taken a high-caliber rifle round, right through the fleshy part just under his collar bone. Certainly not a fatal wound, but one that would hurt for a bit, at the very least.

"Sarge! Sarge, are you okay?" Someone was shouting above the noise of gunfire and the engines of the still-passing convoy. A girl, not Razack. To cold. Shaw, had to be Shaw.

"I'm Tango 4!" Marasco called back, indicating a wound that was, in DF parlance, "just a scratch."

"Then get you're ass in here!" Shaw's voice was coming from Marasco's left, and he swiveled his head to look. There, in the very last Puma, the Corporal, seated with the two reporters in the vehicle's rear section. Unsurprising. If anyone could keep the two news hounds in the vehicle no matter what happened, it would be Hester Shaw.

Marasco got to his feet, shakily, and hurried over, head down lest he take another shot in a worse place. Thankfully, the Puma was moving slowly, speed restricted by the tank at the front of the cavalcade. Shaw held out her hand and he grabbed it with his left one, gasping as the Corporal hauled him into the rear of the Puma. She steered him so that he crashed into her lap, there being no empty seats in with the vehicle's current load.

"Guess I'm riding lover style," Marasco noted quietly, referencing his current possition on top of the Corporal's legs.

"Oh dear." Shaw said blandly.

"Ah, Marasco, how nice of you to-" Rogers started, before she glanced at Marasco's shoulder. Her face turned pale and she looked away, hand over her mouth.

"And people wonder why they shouldn't let dames into rep-oh God." Malone noticed the wound as well, eyes wide behind his glasses. "They shot him."

"Yeah, that's what tends to happen in war." Shaw said.

Marasco made a dismissive noise. "I've taken worse."

"You need some morphine, boss?" Shaw asked, pulling out one of the ore-measured painkiller vials that all Darwin's carried as part of their personal medical kit. Marasco shook his head.  
>"I'll live."<p>

Shaw nodded and replaced the injector. The back of the Puma fell silent, the reporters keeping their mouths closed to make sure their most recent meals weren't violently displayed for all to see, Shaw and Marasco because they were keeping a watch out for any more sneaky Clankers.

The last three minutes to the exfiltration point passed with no serious problems. Marasco had no doubt that the fight wasn't over; the Germans were regrouping and waiting till the Darwin's were stuck waiting in the EZ to attack.

Almost as soon as he said that, the line of vehicles came to a shaking halt in the middle of a grass field. There was a moment of silence and peace, as if the Clankers were letting their prey set up to fight back.

Then all hell broke loose.

Once more the air was rent with the sound of rifle and pistol fire, interspersed with the throaty roars of machine guns from both sides. The Germans had called for reinforcements; from the sides of the passage the Darwin's had just used, two groups of two Blitz-Wanderer light scout walkers emerged, firing upon the Darwin's possition with their Spandau's and 25mm cannons.

Gossard's tank answered them, one of it's heavy 75mm guns roaring. One of the walkers took the shot, stumbled, and fell, flames licking from the crew compartment.

But more came. It seemed to Marasco that First Squad had finally found the armored part of the unit the Clanker he'd crushed at the beginning of this mission had belonged too.

"Damn it, where's our exfil?" Wyatt cried, ramming a new magazine into his M1903. "I'm starting to run low on rounds here!"

"Any minute now!" Marasco shouted back.

He jumped back as a 25mm shell exploded a yard from him, throwing up sod and scorched earth in every direction.

"I hope..." He amended.

"HOLD THEM OFF!" He bellowed to First Squad.

Then; the rhythmic rug-beating noise of a big gyrothopter approaching. Marasco looked up.

Approaching from behind them were not one, not two, but THREE Cattlecars, including one he recognized as Charlie 1-5. MacPherson had been right, as always.

The incoming fire from the Clankers slackened slightly at the sight of the gyros, and decreased even more as all three suddenly spat puffs of white from their noses and wings and trailed lines of smoke over the heads of First Squad. The lines hit the German lines and exploded, knocking out two of the remaining walkers and throwing infantry around like ragdolls.

A rocket barrage, using not ordinary rockets but fabricated missiles made from dogfish, loaded with naturally refined high explosives.

"Hell yeah! Shark shot!" One of the First Squad Privates howled. Several others joined in his celebration, pumping their rifles in the air.

But the Germans weren't finished. Shaking off the shock, then reengaged, small arms fire sparking off the sides of the Cattlecar's as they descended. The tank answered them, firing an anti-personnel 75 round over their heads and making their fire slacken again.

The three Cattlecar's decended and dropped their tail ramps. As they did, First Squad split, partially by training and partially by instinct.

All ten Privates and the two teens headed for the gyro on the left, Tripp's Charlie 1-5. The middle one, which had obviously designed for just this job by it's enlarged cargo bay, was quickly filled by the five Pumas, with Gossard's tank being secured to the long tail boom behind it. Marasco, flanked by Shaw, the two reporters, and the nurse, hurried aboard the third one, not bothering to check it's title.

As Marasco entered, he realized that the gyrothoper wasn't empty; there were already people inside, including several other soldiers, each bearing the patch of Second Squad.

So; MacPherson had redirected the transport Harkness had been using to pick them up, with Harkness's group still aboard.

They weren't alone, he noticed. Asleep against the passenger seats were three people Marasco hadn't seen since the party in Seattle a week before, all asleep; Dr. Church, Deryn Sharp, and the Clanker boy he'd been compromised by, Alek Ferdinand. There was a woman with them too, someone who Marasco recognized from his training in Darwinism as Dr. Nora Barlow.

Marasco quickly covered his surprise by turning around and seeing to the loading of the rescuee's.

Lynch sat down without a problem, but Rogers and Malone paused as they recognized who else was in the gyro with them. Both opened their mouths, but Shaw caught them, pulling out her own M1911 sidearm and aiming it at them.

"Say anything about her, and I'll shot you and shove you're corpses out the back." She said harshly. Marasco had not doubts she would do just that, and the reporters obviously didn't either. They sat down, then quickly fell into a quiet discussion with each other about who would get the rights to publish what once they returned to the ground.

Marasco took his standard seat at the very back of the cargo bay as the three gyro's left the earth with triple identical roars. Shaw sat across from him, pistol still drawn.

"Well, how was that for a first real fight?" She asked quietly. "Couple dozen kills and no casualties? I'd say that was a good run."

"It was, Corporal. But we aren't perfect, not yet. When we get back, I'm running us through some additional training."

"I don't think we'll ever be completely perfect, David," Shaw said quietly, giving Marasco one of her rare, quick smiles. "We don't need to be. Just good enough to win."

"You just don't want to loose you're free time," Marasco quipped. Shaw chuckled dryly.

"Sort of-" She began, but was cut off as something shot by the Cattlecar with a high-pitched scream. A second followed close behind it, then a third, fourth, fifth, and sixth.

Marasco tracked the fast-moving objects, identifying them. They were like aeroplanes, but their bodies were smoother, more like a sea creature than a machine. Which was fitting, as that was exactly what they were; beasties with great white shark life chains in them, powered by compressed methane jets like a squid and controlled by a pilot.

"Sky Sharks? What the hell are they doing here?" He wondered. Sky Sharks were normally used to protect large, vulnerable things, like walkers or airships and occasionally land vehicles. They could be there to cover the retreating Cattlecar's, but they were going rather fast in the opposite direction for that.

His question was answered a moment later as huge lines of fire exploded through Paris's streets, engulfing entire blocks and stretching as far back as the base of the Eiffel Tower.

"Woah, Sky Shark air strike!" He called in wonder. "I haven't seen one of those in years! Someone is not happy about the Clankers being here!"

"Ain't it true-oh clart!" Shaw cried. Something had gotten her attention, off to the side. "The tower! Sarge, look at the tower!"

Marasco did, and his mouth dropped open in awe.

The Eiffel Tower was shaking and shifting, the metal of it's midsection burning brightly, weakened by the German zeppelin that had crashed into it earlier and now further stressed by the bombs of the air strike and the pressure waves of the Sky Sharks that delivered it.

With a great, echoing groan, as if all of Paris were crying out in horror and disbelief, the tower's entier upper length leaned towards the river it was built near and fell with a great "crash" of rending metal and splintering glass. It's base wrenched free of the earth partially, it's two farthest legs uprooting themselves from the earth before crashing back down.

Marasco and Shaw looked in silence at the fallen monument. Shaw glanced back over at her commanding officer, a look of realization in her eyes.

"This war's gonna be bad," She said simply.

"Real bad." Marasco agreed just as simply. "A war to end all wars."

Then the back of the Cattlecar sealed as it climbed to altitudes where the air was colder, cutting off the two soldier's view of the fallen Tower as they were whisked back to their home base.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: How strange. And here I thought I was gonna get a surge of angry comments because I'd given Darwin's Fist two firearms (the M1917 and M2 machine guns) that weren't operational until far after 1914. Not that I'm complaining. Or do the people who read this not know much about weaponry?**

Darwin's Fist

Chapter 4

Alek was neither asleep nor awake. He wanted desperately to sleep, especially after the nasty shocks he'd just gotten, but he couldn't because of those very shocks.

He sighed and leaned against the warm, slightly soft presence to his right, seeking to use it as a pillow. No such luck; even though it was soft and warm, there was something hard inside it. A metal bar? A pipe? He wasn't sure.

He shifted and stirred again with a groan. As he did, voices came to him, slightly distorted and lacking much in meaning or gender.

"Hey, looks like he's waking up."

"No he's not. He's still out cold. You see him leaning against Sharp's knockers? Or what passes for them, poor girl..."

"Hard not to. He'd better get up soon, we're almost back."

"Trust me, the longer he's out, the better. Splicing Clanker."

"Say what you want. I still think he should get up soon. I don't want to haul his ass off this bird if he's not up."

"Well how 'bout you wake him up then?"

"No thanks. Besides, it takes a chick to wake a sleeping prince, remember?"

"That's a load of clart. Since when do you believe in fairy tales? Just poke him."

"No thanks, he's got Clanker cooties."

"Oh real funny-"

There was a sudden "thump" and pain seared through Alek's mind. He came fully awake with a gasp and a cry.

It took him a moment to clear his eyes and focus. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was.

Slowly, it came back to him; the negotiations, the attack, those strange, American soldiers, Darwin's Fist, and their oversized gyrothopters. One of which he was still inside. Right.

Alek rubbed the back of his head, which was still tender. Judging from the ache, he'd smacked it against the wall of the gyrothopter in his semi-sleep.

He glanced around, eyes still blurry with sleep. The inside of the bay was darkened, but he could still see. He wasn't alone. Multiple humanoid shapes sat in the gloom, including four that he didn't remember being in the bay last time he checked. Where had they come from?

Something shifted in his lap, and he glanced down. It turned out to be Deryn, still fast asleep and now laying face-down across his legs, with her face pressing in towards his crotch.

As he watched, she groaned in her sleep and snuggled closer to him, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Alek's face burned with embarrassment. To make matters worse, Deryn promptly mumbled "no, I like being tied up..."

"Well, he's up now," One of the voices from earlier noted. Alek blinked and looked over to the other side of the bay, where the voice was coming from.

It turned out to be one of the soldiers who'd rescued them, the Corporal that had pulled him and Deryn aboard the gyro just before the shelling had resumed. Now that he had the time to look at the soldier's uniform, he could see that it bore the name Sixx. Closer inspection also proved that what Alek had at first thought to be paint on the soldier's face was actually a piece of cloth hanging from his helmet, colored like foliage.

"Yes, I'm awake." Alek said simply, still sleep-muddled and unable to string together a more-complex sentence.

"Glad to see it." The second voice noted. Alek glanced over to the owner, seeing it was one of the two Privates who'd helped with the rescue. His tag stated his name to be Montag.

"Yes. Now you won't have to get any of my 'Clanker cooties.'" Alek replied dryly. He'd gotten used to insults regarding his heritage during his time with the Zoological Society.

"Oh, heard that did you?" Montag replied. His tone surprised Alek. Normally, when people noticed he'd heard the comments they made about him, they apologized. But Montag showed no hit of being sorry at all. If anything, he seemed pleased that his insult had been heard.

"Good." He said with great finality.

"Come on, leave him alone Montag. That's an order, by the way." Sixx said, hitting Montag in the ribs with hir elbow. His voice reminded Alek of Deryn; on the high side of boyish. But where Deryn (as Dylan) had seemed like the kind of person you would want as a friend, Alek's impression of Sixx was that, if you were to disappoint him for any reason, he would rip something important out of you and forcefully insert it into something less important.

"Yes sir." Montag said mockingly. Alek found himself thinking that, while tactical precision was obviously one of the strong points of this "Darwin's Fist", proper respect wasn't.

In Alek's lap, Deryn stirred slightly with a groan and a "blegh" noise. He glanced down to see her raising herself off his legs with one hand, wiping a long line of drool off the side of her cheek as she did.

"Wha...what's going on?" She asked sleepily. Alek offered his hand to help her up, but Deryn ignored it, instead deciding to lay right back down on his lap.

"We're almost at our base, ma'am." Sixx informed Deryn and, through extension, Alek. The girl in Alek's lap stiffened.

"Ma'am?" She said, quickly slipping back into her "Dylan" voice. "I don't kn-"

"Cut the act, we know you're a dame." Montag said, with a grin that Alek had a sudden urge to remove from his face manually, preferably with a fist. "And don't look worried, the Fist is cool with that kinda stuff."

"Right. MacPherson. The party." Deryn let out a relieved sigh and slipped back into her standard way of talking. Then she stiffened. "How-"

"The better question? How NOT?" Sixx added with what Alek assumed was a grin, though he couldn't be sure through the leaf-like cloth that covered the lower part of the Corporal's face. "Trust me. There isn't much that goes on in the world that the Fist doesn't hear about. We've got Ear and Eyes everywhere. As for us specifically? Lt. MacPherson briefed us on you after the party."

Alek imagined her giving capitals to "ears" and "eyes".

"Oh." Deryn said. Softly, she gripped at Alek's hand, and he took it just as gently.

"How cute." Montag grumbled. "Someone pass me a bucket so I can spew."

Sixx laughed and elbowed the Private again.

There was a sound of boots on hollow metal, and Alek turned to his right to see another Fist soldier coming towards him. He recognized him instantly; Sergeant Marasco, who he'd taken a picture of at the party in Seattle. How strange, that party. It felt like it was years ago, not barely two weeks.

Strange, when had he come aboard?

"Agent Ferdinand." Marasco said, voice cold and professional before Alek could ask any questions about his seemingly sudden appearance. Alek felt himself shivering slightly and gripped at Deryn's hand. Whatever Sixx would do to him, he figured, Marasco would match and up by several levels. Secretly getting captured on film at the party probably hadn't helped his relations with the soldier. Alek had no doubt that he knew he'd been photographed.

"S-sergeant Marasco." Alek stuttered out. "When...when did you come aboard?"

"While you were out." Marasco replied simply. "The gyro made a little stop to pick my squad up."

"I see." Alek said quietly. "You're well, I would hope?"

"Well, I'm alive." Marasco scoffed. "No thanks to our common enemy the Germans and their rifles."

He indicated his right shoulder. Alek's eyes instantly were drawn to the dark red splash on his uniform, and the large ragged hole that the color obviously originated from.

"Yesh, Sarge, you didn't tell us you'd gotten shot again!" Sixx exclaimed.

"What, so I can get ANOTHER Purple Heart? No thanks. Two's enough." Marasco mumbled. Alek wasn't sure what a "Purple Heart" was, but he assumed it was some kind of military decoration, like Deryn's Air Gallantry award.

"Yeah, he's already got the Red Badge of Courage, give him a Purple Heart and his head will swell so much his helmet wouldn't fit."

"I'll make YOUR head swell if you don't shut it," Sixx growled. Marasco simply chuckled and looked back at Alek.

"Huh. And here I thought Clanker's were prudes." He noted calmly. Alek glanced back down at Deryn and, to his face-burning horror, saw she'd fallen asleep again with her face directly between his legs.

"She's just...tired." He said sheepishly.

All three soldiers burst into hard laughter at this, Marasco included. Their voices echoing off the insides of the gyro and startling Deryn awake again. She cried out and fell onto the floor of the bay with a grunt, making the soldiers laugh even harder.

"Hey, we just discovered a British secret weapon; making the Clankers die of laughter!" Montag said, holding his ribs.

"I'm Scottish, you bum-rags!" Deryn grumbled angrily, face as red as Alek's. The soldiers laughter continued for a moment, then slowly died out.

"Seriously?" Sixx asked, sounding interested. His eyes raised behind his goggles.

"Aye." Deryn said defiantly, lifting herself off the floor and dusting herself off. "Born and raised in Glasgow all my life."

"Huh." Sixx nodded, then turned towards the aft of the bay and shouted "Oi, Harkness! Got another Scot here!"

More boots thundered, and the Sergeant that had lead the rescue hurried over.

"Really? Who?" He asked, sounding excited. Sixx pointed at Deryn, and Harkness tracked his finger.

"Her? I thought she was British." He said, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"She's from Glasgow, apparently." Marasco noted calmly, reaching his hand up to the ceiling to grasp a strap that was hanging there as the gyro shifted again. "And her last name IS Sharp."

"Yeah, that's Scot alright!" Harkness beamed. "Andrew, son of Tavish, clan and family Harkness."

"Deryn, son of Artemis, family Sharp." Deryn replied, slowly. "Barking spiders it's been a long time since I've introduced myself like that. I'm not even sure if I got it right."

Harkness chuckled. "Neither am I, but it sounds cool. That's what matters." He held his hand out to Deryn, who shook it. Alek glowered, not liking how quickly Deryn and this Harkness were hitting it off.

"Get used to it. Britain ain't too popular in the Fist, but Scotland's dead popular. Warriors and all. Lots of second-generation Americas of Scot decent too. You might wanna play up you're heritage." Harkness continued. "Actually..." He grinned in a way Alek didn't particularly like. "When was the last time you had haggis?"

Deryn's eyes suddenly glittered and she literally started to drool. "Barking MONTHS!" She hissed. "Oh PLEASE tell me you know where to get some!"

"Know? This washout MAKES the stuff," Marasco noted, glaring at Harkness. "Says it's 'the most Darwinist meal of all time.' Makes the mess hall smell like spew for days every time he does."

"Aye, that's true! Oh clart I want some of that SO BAD..." Deryn practically begged. Alek growled and grit his teeth. Once again, he was on the outside, having no clue what "haggis" might be, other than it was a food. Which was bad enough; Deryn certainly loved to eat.

"I'll make sure you get some then." Harkness said.

"She can have mine, sir." Montag noted. "Never liked that stuff much anyway."

"Deal." Harkness replied.

Alek opened his mouth to ask what in God's name "haggis" was, but he decided against it. No need to make them think he was STUPID as well as Clanker.

Marasco glanced over his shoulder at the rear of the gyro. "Looks like the dead meat's still out cold. Good." He muttered.

"Huh?" Alek grunted, looking in the same direction. As he looked, two of the humanoid shapes from earlier came into further focus.

Deryn followed his line of sight and groaned. "Oh brilliant. Malone AND Rogers!"

Indeed, the two reporters were currently curled up at the back of the gyro.

"Don't worry." Marasco said with a nasty grin. "I've made it clear that, if they do anything even RESEMBALING reporting without someones say-so, I'm going to let Corporal Shaw deal with them as she sees fit."

He shot a quick look back over his shoulder at the third shape at the back of the gyro. He made a "come here" gesture at it, and the figure stood, once again with the noise of boots on metal.

Alek opened his mouth to say something, but as the solider approached the words died in his throat.

This soldier was a girl, but unlike Deryn she didn't hide it. She also didn't hide the fact that she was disfigured horribly; practically diagonally from the center of her right eyebrow to the center of her mouth and through her right eye was a ragged scar, as if someone had slashed at her with a jagged shard of metal.

The eye the scar went through didn't look right to Alek; it was too deeply colored, and the white part seemed to be lacking the red lines that a normal eye did.

The solider, Shaw, turned to Alek and saw him staring.

"You LOOKING at something, washout?" She asked, voice cold and as far from Deryn's as possible. Alek shivered.

"N...no, ma'am." He said, mouth dry. Shaw smiled, something that made her face even more horrifying to look at as it spread her scar, revealing jagged flesh still trapped in it's embrace. Alek felt a surge of nausea and looked away.

"Well, someone's got good manners." Shaw noted before turning away, heading back towards her original seat.

Alek watched her go, shivering again.

Deryn watched the Corporal leave as well, noting "Well, she seems...interesting."

Marasco noticed and grinned.

"And that's why you don't have to worry about our news hound friends," He said simply. "Shaw's in a good mood right now. You do NOT want to see her when she's displeased, by ANYTHING."

Alek simply nodded and swallowed slightly.

There was a rustle and a yawn from the other side of the bay. Doctor Barlow and the American boffin Harkness had called Dr. Church, waking up finally. Church recovered faster than the lady boffin, looking around behind his spectacles and leaning on his cane with a sense of calm that Alek envied.

"Ah, Marasco! You're here as well!" He noted. Marasco snapped a quick salute.

"The el-tee redirected this Cattlecar to pick up First Squad from Paris," the Sergeant quickly explained. "There were some...complications in our original attempt to extract.

"As there always are, whenever it comes to violence," Church noted. "Must have been rather intense, judging from you're shoulder."

"Oh this?" Marasco noted offhandedly, pointing at his wound. "Scratch."

"Of course." Church gave him an almost fatherly smile. Alek found himself unable to decide what he thought of the American boffin. He was like Dr. Barlow, but at the same time, less intense. More like a kind uncle or grandfather than a boss.

"Still, have it looked at when we get back aboard _Dreadnought_, would you?" Church continued to Marasco. The Sergeant nodded.

"Yes sir." He said.

So...nice Church might be, but he still commanded respect, even from someone like Marasco.

The boffin nodded to him and leaned back, glancing to his left at Dr. Barlow, who was still gathering her wits about her.

The four soldier shared glances and vile grins. Apparently, the respect they had for Dr. Church didn't extend to all boffins.

"Welcome back, Nora." Church said, leaning forwards and on his cane to look at the lady boffin. "Your sleep was as calm as mine was, I hope."

"Sadly, no," Barlow muttered, rubbing her eyes. "I was barely able to get any sleep thanks to this contraption of yours-"

"It's called a V-3 Cattlecar General Purpose Cargo Gyrothopter," Harkness informed her gladly.

"-This _Cattlecar_ then," Dr. Barlow continued, sounding almost peevish. "It is most certainly not how I'd prefer to travel. Far too noisy and rough."

"You always did have a prevalence for lighter-than-air creatures." Dr. Church replied with a small smile. "Like the _Leviathan_."

It didn't sound like he was making a joke, but the four soldiers still chuckled.

Deryn took offense to this and jumped in to defend her home.

"The _Leviathan_'s a barking warship!" She snapped. "She's nothing to laugh about!"

But, apparently, there was, because the moment she said the word "warship" the soldiers exploded into mirth again, Harkness actually almost doubling over.

"The _Leviathan_? A WARSHIP?" He gasped out. "Oh no no no..."

"Please. That gasbag? It's a splicing FLYING DEATHTRAP, not a warship." Marasco said, fighting hard not to fall over himself. "An outdated, outmatched, out-gunned, out-engined and under-armored YACHT. Or have you forgotten that you were shot down by six decade-old obsolete airplanes?"

"Lets see you do better in same odds." Deryn spat, with a surprising amount of venom in her voice. Marasco just shrugged.

"Gimmie a HuxleyPack and a Lewis em-gee and I'll take that deal." He said. "Actually, make it eight top-of-the-line Clanker planes flown by Mexican pilots and I've already have done it."

"Oh yes, you're infamous Huxley jump over Pancho Villia's base. Please, heard that one before." Harkness groaned.

Deryn opened her mouth to say something else, but instead fell into a sulky silence.

The Sergeant in question gave her a quick salute, then headed to the rear of the bay to check on the last passenger there, apparently a civilian that he'd picked during his "Paris mission", whatever that had been.

Alek put his hand out to Deryn, who took it and squeezed it hard.

"Clart-soaked bum-rag ninny." She muttered angrily.

"The proper title for Sarge Marasco is "fab-mating inbred washout,", Sharp." Sixx noted with a chuckle.

"He's lying, isn't he?" Deryn asked, voice quiet. "He never actually did that thing with the machine gun and the planes, right?"

"Sadly for you, that's all too true." Sixx said with a shrug. "I was there. We were over the north of Mexico, checking out Pancho Villa's base to see the stuff Malone and Rogers told us he had when you were down there was true, and the Sarge wanted to get on the ground first. So he commandeered a HuxleyPack, grabbed a machine gun and jumped. Villa sent planes up to fight our airship, and Marasco shot all of them up. Earned himself a Silver Life Chain doing it too."

Deryn just blinked and sat back, face pale. Alek held her closer, but she didn't react.

He glanced back at Marasco and gave him a hard glare. The Sergeant noticed, gave him a huge smile, and raised the middle finger of his right hand to him.

"He seems rather...antisocial." He noted. Sixx shrugged, a movement that Alek more heard inside the soldier's uniform than saw in the dim light.

"Eh. He's been like that as long as I can remember. Ever since I joined up with the Fist. Makes him a damn good soldier though. Probably why he's in command of us all."

"Oh? I thought he just commanded First Squad." Alek probed. Sixx shook his head.

"Nah, he's in command of the whole First Platoon of the Fist. He doesn't spread it around, but he's actually a Sergeant Major."

"Strange. Why wouldn't he make that clearer?" Deryn asked, furrowing her brows at the Sergeant. Alek guessed that, were she in the same possition, she'd be throwing her title around for all it was worth.

"He doesn't like it. Got promoted against his will, multiple times. Marasco's not a desk jockey, in any way. He signed up to fight Clankers, not direct the fight against them. If he had his way, he'd be a Corporal, if that. But the military rewards good soldiers..." He shrugged again.

"And he's one of the best, in their eyes." Alek guessed. Sixx nodded.

Deryn glared at the Sergeant, then lay back against Alek's side, sliding her arm around his waist.

Well, Alek thought to himself, one good thing about his unit was he didn't have to worry about Deryn being discovered if they already knew. He hugged her back. If Sixx noticed, he didn't make note of it.

There was a grinding noise from the wall to Alek's left, and a recessed door in it slid open, letting in a burst of light that almost blinded Alek and made the Darwin's nearest him groan and cover their own eyes.

Stepping from it came another soldier, this one in a uniform that hinted at him being an airman like Deryn. Perched atop his head was a large, bowl-shaped helmet, apparently made of coral.

"Heads up Doc, we're about five minutes out from home base," he said, voice bearing the same twang as Dr. Church. The doctor in question nodded.

"Excellent, Warrant Officer." He replied, smiling again. "You've called ahead and announced our arrival, I assume?"

"Yes sir." The apparent Warrant Officer nodded. "The hanger's clear for our arrival and the air-defense gun teams are standing down. Dr. H wants to see you as soon as you get back too."

"But of course." Church gave a soft throaty laugh. He stopped, then glanced over at Alek.

"Might there be some extra room in the cockpit? I think Agent Ferdinand would appreciate seeing our base on the way in."

"Clanker, huh? Yeah, something tells me he'll clart his pants." The pilot smiled and gestured for Alek to follow him. "Come on. You can sit in the navigator's seat."

Alek, interest aroused at the thought of a new American machine, gave Deryn a quick kiss on the forehead and freed himself from her. Before he climbed into the cockpit, he heard her mutter "barking Clankers and their machines..."

Alek ignored the comment and slipped into the cockpit.

His first impression was that he was standing in a side-ways greenhouse, like the ones that his mother used to grow exotic plants in. Practically the entire exterior of the cockpit was made of glass panels, giving him (and the pilot he assumed) an unprecedented view of the sky around him.

"God's wounds..." He whispered as he looked out.

The gyro was flying through a thick layer of clouds, which were shooting by it at an incredible rate. He only had his time on the _Leviathan_ to compare it to, but he could already tell that the gyro was traveling phenomenally fast.

"Impressive, ain't it?" The Warrant Officer asked, before taking his seat on the right side of the cockpit. There was another one on the left, still occupied by another solider in an almost identical uniform. Except this one was another girl.

Just how many females did Darwin's Fist have in its ranks? Privates, Corporals, Lieutenants and now pilots. And all of them apparently not trying to hide their gender like Deryn had. Apparently the American's, or at least Darwin's Fist, were more equal in their recruitment of soldiers.

"That the Clanker prince we picked up?" She asked her companion, not taking her eyes off the many gauges and dials in front of her.

"Roger. That's him." The Warrant Officer replied. "Dr. Church had him come up here. Said he might like seeing _Dreadnought_. Though he ain't a prince no more. Left all that malarkey to join the Royal Zoological Society."

"Heard that, yeah." The pilot agreed. "Smart move if you ask me. You couldn't pay me to be part of a royal family."

"Hoorah to that here too." The Warrant Officer chuckled. Alek frowned, not entirely happy with how the two were talking about him as if he weren't there. Then again, he thought, perhaps, to them, he actually WASN'T. He'd seen Deryn space him out completely when there were aeronautical things to deal with. And considering just how many dials and gauges and other things obviously important to flying the craft there were before him, perhaps thats what was going on here.

"He dumped it for that Scot chick we picked up though," The Warrant Officer continued. "Guess even Clankers aren't immune to biology."

"Tell me about it. Remember that Austrian pilot in Prague?"

"The one you tied up and mated senseless after three beers?"

"Yep. That's him. What did he say when I was done?"

The two pilots exchanged grins, then said, simultaneously "Excuse me, madame aviatrix, but I cannot feel my control stick."

They both burst into laugher that went on for a good minute. Alek simply leaned back and let them go. The pilot seemed to notice his presence though, and their laugher died out.

"So...Agent Ferdinand, right?" She asked, reaching up to flick a switch on the panel above her head.

"Yes." Alek said with a nod.

"Pleasure. Warrant Officer Cluney. And my co-pilot here is Warrant Officer Thursday." Cluney turned and nodded to him. "Strange 'bout you're last name though. Everyone I chewed fat with said it was Hohenburg or something like that."

"It was," Alek said slowly, not really interested in telling this story again. But, he doubted that he would have to again for the whole time he was with Darwin's Fist, if the way that Deryn's secret got spread was any indication. "I used "Hohenburg" for a while, but then Dr. Barlow pointed out that I technically had no right to that name anymore. And, apparently, it sounded "too Clanker-ish", whatever that means."

"Cause you gave up the title and clart. Right." Cluney shrugged. "So you changed it to Ferdinand. Works for me."

She paused, checking a large circular dial in the middle of her panel. "Heads up, we're about a minute out from docking."

"Docking with what?" Alek asked.

The two pilots exchanged looks.

"You think we're clear to tell him?" Cluney asked. Thursday shook his head.

"Not a clue. Dr. Church said the name, maybe that's all we can say?"

"Yeah. I just don't wanna get investigated for giving out classified information, you know?"

"Echo that. If they take me away from flying, I'll throw myself out a mating window."

"I'll push you!" Cluney chuckled.

They fell into silence, glancing back at Alek again. Behind them, the door Alek had come through ground open again.

"Problem?" Dr. Church asked, climbing into the cockpit. The two flyer's snapped small salutes as he did.

"Nothing bad, sir, just wonderin' how much we can tell the Clanker." Thursday informed the boffin.

"About _Dreadnought_? No worries, Warrant Officer. I'll cover that. You just focus on getting us there."

"Yes sir." Thursday went back to examining the control panel, noting "Starboard oil pressure's a bit low, might wanna get that checked when we get back."

Alek glanced over at Dr. Church, who had slid into a seat behind Cluney.

"So...this, _Dreadnought_ everyone keeps talking about..." He asked slowly. "Its not a LAND dreadnought, like the Germans have, I assume?"

Dr. Church shook his head.

"No, thankfully. OUR _Dreadnought_ is something much more impressive. She's an airship. A very nice one too."

"Must be, with a name like that." Alek agreed, even though he was still a little confused. "Deryn might have a complaint against it though..."

Church chuckled, a noise that seemed strange coming from a boffin. But then again, Alek's only experience with boffin's had been Dr. Barlow and her almost emotionless personality. Dr. Church was obviously not her.

"Perhaps. That girl does seem to have deep feelings for the _Leviathan_." He noted. "But save your judgments till you see her."

"Right." Alek nodded and looked forwards, out the window.

"Fifteen seconds out," Cluney noted. "Starting docking procedures..."

She paused in her speech, looking at something. "Oh CLART, you have got to be kidding..."

"What?" Thursday asked. "Snag?"

"Echolocator's out again. Damn it, I told maintenance to get this splicing thing fixed..."

"Typical." Thursday grumbled. He glanced back at Dr. Church. "Uh, sir, we have a-"

"I know." The boffin replied, calmly as ever. "Its nothing to worry about. Call it in. I'll give full clearance for at least a partial decloak for landing."

"Copy." Thursday turned back and pulled down something from the control panel. It took Alek a moment to recognize it as a dolphin, like the one he'd seen in Marasco's coat at the party, wrapped in some kind of wire that obviously secured it to the control panel.

"Base, this is Charlie 1-4, repeat, Charlie 1-4, on approach with Hotel Victor India's, count five, repeat, count fine. Our echo's flatlined, requesting partial decloak for docking, over." Thursday spoke to the dolphin like it was a wireless microphone.

Cloak? Alek wondered to himself. What the hell did that mean? Did their entire airship wear a coat or something?

Considering some of the things he'd seen with the Society, he wouldn't be surprised if that was true.

There was silence for a moment, then the dolphin spoke back.

"Charlie 1-4, this is Base Control. We're tracking you. You have clearance for decloak?"

Thursday glanced at Dr. Church, who made a motion with his hand. Thursday handed the dolphin to him, and the boffin sat back, pulling the cord to him.

"Base, this is Dr. Church. I'm aboard Charlie 1-4, they have my clearance. That good enough?"

There was a pause again, then the dolphin replied "More than good enough, sir. You're in luck; the rigger boys are out fixing one of the turrets. They wanted us to do a full decloak anyway. Stand by, disengaging in 3...2...1..."

Dr. Church handed the dolphin back to Thursday and pointed, straight out the window. Alek, lacking anything better to do, followed it.

At first, he saw nothing but white clouds and pale blue sky, mixed in with spots of green where breaks in the clouds allowed him to see the ground. Then; a ripple. At first, he thought it was a cloud moving and breaking apart under the invisible forces of the wind, like Deryn had explained to him before. But this ripple was too CLEAN to be wind. It was going only one direction, not out and up.

Then, a glint of metal. Some structure, apparently hanging in the middle of the air. Four poles, sticking straight up from a circular dome.

No, not poles, guns. Four machine guns, attached to a turret of some kind.

The ripple spread outwards from the turret, revealing more to Alek's disbelieving eyes. Fabric skin, lots of it, all seamlessly smooth...and a word. Or rather, a name.

_U.S.S. Dreadnought_.

Before him, seemingly out of nowhere, a massive airship slowly materialized.

Alek gasped. He couldn't help himself.

"God's wounds..." He whispered.

Slowly, the full majesty of the airship became visible to him as the shimmer revealed it's full length, then vanished, seemingly into the ether. It was bigger than he'd first thought, easily twice the length of the _Leviathan_. And unlike Deryn's beloved airbeast, it showed no sign of being a beastie. Its skin was some kind of silvery, obviously artificial material, and it was incredibly smooth looking, no engines or control systems or anything external, except for that one turret. And even as he watched, the four barrels of the machine guns slid backwards into the ship, as if being inhaled by the vehicle. A hatch closed over it, and the entire airship was now completely smooth.

"Impressive, isn't she?" Dr. Church asked.

"Yes." Alek said, voice dry. "She's...a masterpiece of engineering."

"Much more than that." Church said, leaning forward on his cane. "She's actually equal parts Clanker and Darwinist. The best of both world, you know. Compromise in weapon form."

"She...doesn't look it," Alek admitted. "I'm not seeing anything other than Clanker materials."

Church chuckled again. "Oh, yes, it may seem that way. But in actuality, her skin is entirely Darwinist. You know of the cuttlefish, I assume?"

"Of course. The _Leviathan _used fabricated cuttlefish skin to control the engine speed." Alek blinked, remembering the first time he'd driven the airbeast's new engines, over the glacier in the Alps.

"Yes, Nora's little invention. Well, the _Dreadnought _takes that a step further. Her entire _skin _is made of fabricated cephalopod skin. Which, as I'm sure you know, can mimic just about anything. Even, for example, whatever happens to be around it at the time."

"You mean...the entire airship...can turn invisible?" Alek asked in wonder. Church nodded.

"You just witnessed it yourself, did you not?"

"I...don't know what I just saw." Alek replied again. "I'm not sure if I saw anything."

"What you saw, and you did see it, was a decloak. Normally, the _Dreadnought_ is fully invisible to the naked eye. Which, of course, would make it a bit of a problem to land on it. So, they've made her visible so Cluney and Thursday here can get us back safely."

"God's wounds." Alek said again. An invisible airship, of this size...it was almost too much to take in.

"I had a similar reaction when I first saw her, yes." Church leaned back and shifted in his seat, stretching his leg again.

"Oi, Doc, you okay?" Thursday asked, noticing. "You want me to get you a medic on board?"

"No, Warrant, I'm fine. Just stiff from sitting." Church gave a wave of his hand, indicating hit was a minor problem, if that. "Just focus on landing us."

Thursday turned back and glanced over the panels as the Cattlecar swooped in towards the _Dreadnought_.

A sudden thought struck Alek.

"Doctor, how are we going to land?" He asked. "I don't see any bays or openings..."

"Now you don't..." Church said cryptically. He pointed again, and Alek followed his finger once more.

The side of the airship was moving; a seam appeared, splitting quickly and revealing two large doors, recessed smoothly into the side of _Dreadnought_. A hanger or cargo bay, like on the _Leviathan_, but much bigger.

"Now you do." Church finished.

Alek blinked and rubbed his eyes.

The gyro flew closer, Cluney making tiny adjustments to it's flight path so that they would land between the doors.

"Lets leave them too this, shall we?" Church noted, leaving his seat and heading for the cockpit door. "I believe the rest of our little party will want to know we'll be landing momentarily."

The boffin's voice was calm and pleasant as ever, but Alek had a distinct feeling he wasn't being given an option. Not wanting to risk a reprimand, he followed Church out into the cargo bay.

As he entered, Corporal Sixx looked up at him.

"You alright?" He asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Ghost airship, more like." Harkness noted with a chuckle. "I remember you're reaction to seeing _Dreadnought_, Corporal. You had the same look on your face."

"You did too, Andrew." Sixx replied, chuckling. Alek frowned at the sudden apparently camaraderie between Harkness and his subordinate. He ignored it, and instead took his seat next to Deryn, who was leaning back against the wall.

"You okay?" She asked, looking at him. "You're doing that Clanker-machine face again."

Alek blinked and rubbed his face. "I'm fine, it's, their base, their airship...God's wounds, it can turn invisible! The whole ship!"

Deryn glanced at him worriedly. "You sure you didn't get hurt during our rescue?" She asked. "Sounds like you've gone daft again."

"Nah, he's sane." Sergeant Marasco walked up to them from the back of the bay, Corporal Shaw behind him. The Sergeant grinned broadly. "She can cloak. Totally invisible to the naked eye and most fabs too. Not to mention fast. Top speed's something like...400 knots, I think?"

"458, sir." Shaw noted. "Faster than any other ship in the sky, Darwinist or Clanker."

"Yeah. Damn fast, either way." Marasco shrugged. "And if you like what she looks like on the outside...wait till you get in."

Deryn shot a glare at the Sergeant, then turned to Alek, sliding her hand into his. Marasco ignored them, then turned to the rest of the people on board.

"Alright, stand too!" He barked. "Anyone who wants to get off this bird, get on you're feet."

The bay filled with the sounds of people getting to their feet and in some cases stretching.

"Hey, where'd Bov go?" Deryn asked, looking around. Alek blinked and looked too. In all the excitement and confusion since he woke up, he'd completely forgotten about the loris.

"I don't-" He started, before a the sound of claws on metal came from under his seat.

Marasco reacted first, dropping to his hands and knees and pulling a large knife from a sheath on his uniform. After a moment, he relaxed, put the knife down, and reached under the seat Deryn had been sitting on.

"This your fab?" He asked, pulling Bovril out. The loris looked at the Sergeant indignantly and snorted.

"Barking Yanks." It said. Marasco glanced at it before tossing it like a sack of flour at Deryn. She caught it, and the loris scurried onto her shoulder, glowering as much as a fabricated loris could at Marasco.

"Washout." Said a voice from inside Marasco's uniform. The top-left pocket wriggled, and another dolphin like the one in the cockpit pocked it's head out, looking at Bovril with beady black eyes.

"Guess Click doesn't like your fab much." Shaw noted quietly. Marasco grunted.

"Big surprise." He said, turning and heading back to the aft of the bay. Shaw followed, glaring at Malone and Rogers, who were now rising to leave as well.

"An invisible airship?" Malone muttered. "Now that sound like-"

There was a click, and Malone was suddenly up against the wall with the barrel of Shaw's M1911 pressing into his forehead. Rogers looked on in shock.

"Mention anything to anyone, and you are beyond dead." She growled. Malone's eyes crossed, looking at the pistol.

"Okay..." He said quietly. Shaw snorted, but pulled the pistol back.

"That goes for you too, Rogers." She growled to the lady newshound, before the latter could make the comment she obviously wanted too. "Except with you, I won't use the pistol."

Shaw pulled a knife identical to Marasco's from her own uniform, waving it's blade in front of Roger's face. The reporter blinked and jerked her head backwards, then nodded. Shaw glared at her again.

"Reject." She muttered, turning away.

Alek glanced at Deryn.

"What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?" He asked her quietly. Deryn shook her head.

"No barking clue. No barking clue." She said.

There was a "thump", more felt than heard, and the bay shook a little. Then, with a "hiss" like a snake, the back slowly lowered, letting light stream into the darkened bay.

Alek cringed as the light hit his eyes, which had become accustomed to the dark during the ride. After a moment, they cleared, and the bay began to empty, Marasco and Shaw leading the way out of the gyro.

Alek, with Deryn clasping his hand, shuffled out after them, emerging into a massive, open space.

"God's wounds..." he said again.


	6. Chapter 5

Darwin's Fist

Chapter 5

"God's wounds..." Alek whispered, mouth dropping open in awe.

"Aye. REAL posh." Deryn grumbled. She didn't like this. Not one BARKING bit.

Not the being rescued from certain death by walker, no, she was just FINE with that. Any day that she continued to live was a blistering good day in her book.

No, what got her was the way the Americans (Darwin's? That's what Marasco had called them, right?) were so...so...DISMISSIVE of the _Leviathan_!

What right did they have to insult her home! So what is she was old by most standards. She was still a warship!

Next to her, completely oblivious to her internal problems, Alek continued to look around in awe at the hanger bay.

Even though she didn't want to, Deryn couldn't help but feel a little impressed with the _Dreadnought_'s hangar. When the Darwin's had said they'd be landing in the hanger, Deryn had envisioned the _Leviathan_'s hanger; a relatively small space with a loading door and empty space not much else.

This hanger was anything but that.

To begin with it was BARKING massive. Twice, maybe three times the size of the _Leviathan_'s bay. And much, much busier.

Even as she stood there, soldiers and pilots and ground crew were hurrying around, shouting and calling to be heard over the noise of engines and the growling of fabs. Clanker contraptions moved about, intermixing with beasties and their pilots and masters. Aeroplanes and gyrothopters of all sizes sat parked at the end of the hanger, intermingled with flying fabs Deryn had never seen nor heard of before; strange beasties that looked like sharks with glass domes on their foreheads, whales with gun turrets and railings strapped to their blubber, and what looked like a Huxley of some form.

Two men in padded uniforms hurried by her, wheeling what looked like an aquarium on wheels. Inside, through the glass of it's side, Deryn could see what looked like sharks swimming around aimlessly.

"Barking spiders." She muttered.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

Deryn turned to see Dr. Church climbing out to join her, resting heavily on his cane.

"Aye." It was the only thing Deryn could think of to say. She WAS impressed...but she didn't want to show it.

Dr. Church didn't seem to notice, or if he did he didn't mind. He simply stretched and spun his cane around, smiling to himself and humming some up-beat dance tune.

"Agent Ferdinand seems to be enjoying it." He noted pleasantly. Deryn shrugged and grunted.

"He's a Clanker. These kinds of things are irresistible to them."

"Like a feline-based fab and catnip." Church noted. "Well, he shouldn't be worried. He'll have plenty of time to investigate them to his hearts content in the near future, I think."

Deryn shrugged again. The sheer amount of movement and activity in the bay was making her feel...lost.

The deck rang with the sound of boots on metal, and Deryn turned to see the rest of the Cattlecar's passengers disembarking.

"Ah, home sweet home!" Harkness crowed, stretching. "Good to be back."

"Echo that!" Sixx agreed, cracking his neck.

"Guess the Sky Sharks got back before we did..." Marasco noted as he joined them. "Look, they're already reloading their hardpoints."

"Already? Damn, they must have perfected their turnabout time." Shaw climbed out next, glancing around. Deryn shivered as the girl looked her way. Blisters was she scary! That barking SCAR...there was something wrong with her, there HAD to be.

The rest of First and Second Squads filed out and were joined by the soldiers from the other Cattlecar, all chattering happily and exchanging hugs and back-slaps and stories of bravado.

"A most...interesting group." Dr. Barlow noted, joining Deryn and Alek. She seemed uneasy, just as Deryn was.

"You could say that, ma'am." Deryn replied. "Just glad their on our side."

"Don't be so sure, Agent Sharp." Barlow noted quietly. "There is something most undeniably peculiar about these men...be on your guard. Both you AND Alek."

Deryn nodded eagerly. If Barlow used first names...their situation was barking important.

The boffin nodded to them and joined Dr. Church, diving into a rapid-fire conversation that Deryn barely understood. Plenty of boffin blather to keep them both happy, she figured.

The two Sergeants and their Corporals moved off from the main group. Marasco pulled something out of his uniform; a flask, which he unscrewed. The three others pulled out what looked like collapsible shot glasses from their own gear. Marasco poured them all a drink, then raised the flask.

"Here's to our first successful missions in this war. May they be the first of many." he said.

"Hoorah!" The other three chanted. All drank at the same time, in almost identical motions. Marasco and Shaw swallowed theirs without complaint, but Harkness and Sixx coughed and gagged respectively.

"Whoof. Good stuff Marasco." Sixx noted, cringing. "Just don't leave it open in your quarters, or it'll peel the paint off the walls."

"Never liked my quarter's pain anyway." Marasco replied smoothly, as if this were a conversation they'd had before.

Behind them came a loud groan of metal moving, and Deryn looked back with them. The opening that lead out into the cloud-filled sky was slowly growing smaller, the hanger door sliding back into place. With a dull "boom" it sealed.

"Well, we're clear now." Shaw noted, pulling off her helmet. Underneath was a surprising amount of hair for a soldier, the color of copper wire.

"Copy that. Bucket's off people." Marasco yanked off his own, revealing hair that matched Deryn's own in color. Except, of course, the Sergeant had removed almost all of it.

Harkness and Sixx followed suit as well, revealing brown and black hair, Sixx taking off the cloth over his face as well. The moment he did, Harkness looked around quickly, then bent in towards him.

Before Deryn could comprehend what was happening, Harkness kissed Sixx straight on the lips. A passionate one at that, one that put Alek and her own kissing to shame.

"Gods wounds, is that boy..." Alek started, reminding Deryn that she wasn't alone. She glanced over to see him, face pale and mouth open.

"A..aye." She said, swallowing. "I, uh..."

She noticed that Marasco and Shaw were staring at her.

"What?" She asked. Marasco sighed and wiped his face with his palm.

"You DO know about Izzy, right?" He asked through his hand.

Deryn blinked. "Izzy? That's a rather bizarre name for-"

She stopped.

"Oh."

Well, now she knew how Marasco had felt...

"And the spent shell falls." Shaw noted dryly.

"What?" Alek asked, obviously still lost. "Who's Izzy?"

"Me?" Sixx broke away from Harkness and smiled. "Corporal Isabella Sixx, Darwin's Fist Second Squad."

Alek's mouth dropped open further, something Deryn thought was impossible.

"So you're-"

"A "lass", as your girlfriend would call it? Of course." Sixx smiled massively. "What, did you think I was a BOY?"

"Told you." Shaw noted. "You owe me, Sixx. A bet's a bet."

"Damn." Sixx fake-glowered and pulled out a wad of bills, handing them to Shaw.

Marasco and Harkness chuckled. Alek blinked, looking slightly lost.

"Don't bother, you dafty." Deryn soothed, patting him on the shoulder. "Who knows what goes on in these American's minds, right?"

"Right, yes..." Alek shook his head. Deryn looked around, just as Harkness had done, and quickly kissed him.

"Was that exactly necessary?" Alek asked, blushing in the way that always made Deryn's insides curl up like a living creature.

"Since when has necessity had anything to do with it?" She asked quietly. Alek grinned and kissed her back, hard enough to make her legs tingle. He'd gotten quite good at the whole business of kissing since they'd shared their first one on the _Leviathan_'s spine.

Deryn broke away first, glancing around.

"We'll continue later, aye? We might get run over..."

Alek nodded and took her hand.

There was a sound of metal latches opening, and Deryn turned to see a door on the opposite side of the hanger opening. From it spilled still MORE Darwin's Fist soldiers. Or, rather, she was relatively sure they were Fist soldiers. Their gear was different; their uniforms were pure green instead of foliage color, and they were lacking helmets. Instead, they wore goggles.

Marasco seemed to notice them too. He addressed their leader.

"Sergeant Niles."

The man Deryn assumed was Sergeant Niles nodded and saluted. He was an imposing man, tall and well-muscled, even more so than Marasco. He was "built like a brick clarthouse", as Jaspert would have said. "Sergeant Major. Third Squad's here to take over the rescuees as ordered."

Marasco nodded. "They're yours. Be careful; we picked up Roger and Malone during our run."

"No worries sir. I've got this." Niles cracked his knuckles and started calling out orders. The soldiers under his command started herding the civilians out of the gyrothopters and out of the hanger.

"Well, they certainly seem very well tr-Augh!" Alek's compliment turned into a cry of surprise. Deryn spun just in time to see her boyfriend get toppled by a rather-angry looking French girl with pink hair.

"Alek!"

Deryn made to help him, but was shoved aside by a sudden wave of ground crew and pilots, all of whom were chanting something. It took her a second to decode their accent and realize it was "fight".

"Barking spiders!" She swore, trying to force her way back inside the suddenly-formed circle of bodies to break of the fight.

"Five bucks says the dame wastes him!" one pilot shouted.

"Fifteen bucks say you're right!" said another.

All the while, the French girl was screaming something in her native tongue that Deryn couldn't understand. She was just about to pull out her rigging knife and start cutting her way in when Sergeant Niles came in.

"Break it up, break it up, that's an order!" He barked. He didn't yell, but somehow his voice seemed to carry anyway. The crowd dispersed, revealing a very confused and slightly bruised Alek and a broken-looking French girl still trying to punch him despite the tears and sobs coming out of her.

Niles grabbed the girl gently by the shoulder and lifted her clean up off the floor and away from Alek.

"Easy, miss, leave that to my boys. We can hit better than you can." He said calmly. The girl sniffed and relaxed.

Deryn blinked and rubbed her eyes. That...was the most barking weird thing she'd seen in a LONG time...

Niles put the girl down, and she moved off with a red face to a boy about her age, who obviously know her from the way he embraced her.

"Ow." Alek moaned from the floor, getting up and holding his head. He had a rather nasty looking bruise forming on the right side of his face and a slam mark on the left.

"Blisters, are you alright?" Deryn reached down and pulled him to his feet.

"I think so...what hit me?" He blinked, holding the bruised side of his face.

"Angry French girl. I...think she was angry about what happened to Paris..."

"Yes...she was screaming about "making my innards into quiche."" Alek muttered. Deryn held his hand for a long moment, then let him go, checking back around.

The other two Sergeants and their Corporals had joined them, Harkness looking surprised at the results of the fight and Marasco indifferent, arms across his chest. Niles walked up to them.

"New orders, mates. Platoon meeting called. We're needed on the bridge." He explained. "Dr. Halsey herself wants to see us."

"Huh." Marasco noted. "Not surprised, all recent things considered." He nodded to Shaw. "Take First Squad, get them at the range or the mess or something. I'll be gone for a bit."

"Sir!" Shaw saluted, then hurried away, dragging Sixx with her. Obviously, Marasco's order applied to the other Corporal as well.

"The Doc wants Sharp and Ferdinand too," Niles added, nodding in Deryn's direction.

"Well, they're there..." Harkness noted blankly.

Deryn just nodded, unsure of her ability to speak. She settled for holding Alek up and following Niles when he strated to move. The other two Sergeants fell into lock-step with him.

A shiver went up Deryn's spine and she shut her eyes for a moment. Dr. Barlow was right; there was something WRONG about these soliders, about this whole place...and it worried her.

The American's were supposed to be NEUTRAL, weren't they? Where did they get their hands on a barking...SUPERAIRSHIP? Had they constructed it in two weeks? No, impossible, even for them and their Europe-sized country...

So had this airship, and the unit stationed on it, just...been sitting there? This whole time? And if so, what ELSE did America have in store?

She shivered hard enough for her teeth to chatter and Alek to make a conscerned noise.

"I'm fine. Just shaken." She said quietly. He nodded, face pale. He was feeling what she was, that much was obvious. Then again, he'd just been jumped by an angry French girl…

Ahead of the, oblivious to their conversation, the three Sergeants were exchanging soldier gossip.

"Got shot again huh?" Niles noted to Marasco. The other soldier nodded.

"Clanker got the drop on me. Greased him though."

"Course you did. You know you're gonna get ANOTHER Purple Heart for that, AT LEAST..."

"Don't remind me." Marasco sighed. "They should give it to someone else, not me...I've already got a couple! How many medals do I NEED? Its not like they're worth anything, can't throw them at an enemy and kill them with it…"

He stopped, glancing over his shoudler.

"Oi, Sharp, you got wounded in the line of duty right?"

Deryn blinked, processing the question slowly.

Wounded...yeah, she had, technically. The cut on her cheek on the glacier. Multiple walker falls. That crash in Mexico, Pancho Villa's doctor and all that clart...she shuddered, remembering.

"Aye. A couple times."

"Well there you go. I'll give it to her if I get another one." Marasco said happily. "She deserves it as proof...Villa won't be telling anyone she got hurt for sure."

The other two Sergeants nodded in grim agreement.

"Wait...what happened to him?" Alek asked, breaking his streak of quietness.

"Sergeant Marasco made an...EXAMPLE of him." Niles noted, with obvious distaste. Marasco snorted.

"If by THAT you mean I punched out his throat with my fist, then yeah, I made an EXAMPLE of him. And his stupid little doctor too."

"What? When did-"

"You wouldn't know about it. The whole little fight is hush-hush." Harkness noted. "It was supposed to be a recon mission, but then Villa attacked us and we found he'd been dealing with the Clankers and they were plotting an invasion of America from the south and it turned...brutal."

Alek's face lost even more color.

"God's wounds." He muttered.

"What the hell are you complaining about? The washout knew your mate's secret!" Marasco noted darkly. "You should be hugging me in praise! Actually, NO, that would be CREEPY."

"And then you'd need a shower." Niles noted. "Clanker cooties."

"EW!" Harkness squealed like a little girl and all three burst into dark laughter.

"They're mad. All of them." Alek muttered, shaking his head.

"Aye. Just...aye." Deryn agreed, stomach turning over with confusion.

The Sergeant's slowed, and Deryn looked ahead to see that they'd come to a large bulkhead door, guarded by more soldiers in the same gear as Sergeant Niles. They saluted the whole group, then the one on the right took hold of the door and swung it open, letting them through.

The moment she stepped through, Deryn's mouth fell open.

This HAD to be the _Dreadnought_'s bridge. It was too big, too important looking to be anything else.

But, once again, it was NOTHING like what she'd imagine an airship bridge to look like. It was cramped despite it's great size, almost every inch of available space packed with a person or a piece of equipment or a cage or tank with a beastie inside.

Directly to her right, Deryn could see a large water-filled tank with dozens of the small dolphins she'd seen the soldier carrying around swimming inside. One seemed to notice her, and said "Sharp!" in a high, squeaky voice. Moments later, all the others were doing it, their calls blending into each other.

Several officers on the bridge turned to look at the new comers, but after a moment turned back away to their jobs.

One, though, stayed looking. Someone Deryn recognized quite well.

"Deryn." Lieutenant Sophie MacPherson noted, hands clasped behind her back. She looked MUCH different than what Deryn remembered about her; now, she was in full uniform, a black not-quite suit with the patch of Darwin's Fist on her right shoulder and her name in silver on it's breast. The twin bars of her rank twinkled on her collar, matching the glitter from her glasses as she observed the people before her.

Marasco, Harkness and Niles all snapped salutes.

"Ma'am!" They barked in perfect unision. MacPherson gave them all a grand salute as well, snapping her heels together.

"At ease, Sergeants. Welcome home."

"Thank you." All three Sergeant's replied. MacPherson nodded, then turned back to what she had been looking at before.

At first sight, Deryn had thought it was a tactical table, like those the Admiralty used for planning missions and tracking conflict. As she got a better look at it though, she could see that it was MORE than just that; yes, it was a tactical table, but unlike others, where it was simply a piece of wood with a map over it, this one seemed to MOVE on it's own.

"Do join me. Dr. Halsey will be with us momentarily. She went down to the hanger to see the other two boffins up personally."

"Important stuff for them to discuss probably." Marasco noted quietly, taking an empty spot at the table. The other two Sergeants did the same. MacPherson moved back to her own place, leaving Deryn and Alek to scoot into a tight squeeze between Marasco and Niles.

MacPherson seemed to notice Alek and nodded to him.

"Agent Ferdinand. Good to actually see you face to face." She said, holding out a hand. Alek took it, hesitantly, and shook.

"The pleasure is mine." Alek said quietly. If his lack of volume caught MacPherson's attention, she didn't show it, turning back to the map as she did.

Deryn looked down at the table, watching it in fascination. It was indeed moving as she watched; it seemed that there were two levels to it. The first, a solid, standard military map of Europe, with most of the country lines missing. Above it, constantly changing, seemed to be a sort of gelatinous goop which provided the lines and colors for the map, as well as what Deryn assumed were the positions of units and other assets, symbolized by bumps rising from the mostly-flat gel surface.

"Ah, there are the good boffin's now." MacPherson noted calmly, turning towards the door Deryn had come through. She turned as well, seeing a rather flustered-looking Dr. Barlow and a still-serene Dr. Church enter the bridge, Church shaking and hopping his way over the raised frame with his bad leg.

Behind them came a boffin Deryn had to guess was Dr. Halsey, a guess helped by the name printed on her uniform. It was similar to MacPherson's, but it had a gold nautilus, the British insignia for fabrication, and a gold life thread, the American equivalent of the nautilus, on its collar instead of bars. On her shoulder was the same patch as all other Darwin's Fist members; the fist and life thread.

She wasn't at all what Deryn had expected when she though of boffins; she looked young, even younger than Dr. Barlow, maybe only a couple years older than that reporter, Rogers. Her features were sharper as well, like a knife. She and Marasco actually looked somewhat similar, at least in hair and eye color and the shape of their noses.

But her eyes...they were COLD. Deryn shivered looking at them. She'd never seen truly COLD eyes. Dr. Barlow's could be hard and angry sometimes, but never like these, so cold that she was sure they could freeze her dead where she stood if the boffin stared at her.

"CHEIF FABRICANT ON DECK!" Marasco called, snapping once again to attention. The other two Sergeants and MacPherson did as well, and the reaction spread outward, all the other bridge crew jumping up and saluting before going back to their jobs.

"All present. Good." Halsey noted, and Deryn's insides gripped in on themselves. Her voice wasn't hard, or cold like it should have been. If anything, it was almost kind...but THAT was what scared her. The voice didn't fit her AT ALL.

Halsey gave a thin smile at the people clustered around the table before joining them.

"At ease Sergeant." She said. All three of the soldiers relaxed. "On that, welcome back Marasco. You as well, Harkness."

"Thank you ma'am!" Harkness said happily. Marasco just nodded professionally. Halsey returned it, before glancing to the right to see if the other two boffin's were with them (which they were) before clearing her throat.

"We're all busy people, so I'll cut out the formalities and start our little briefing." She said, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down at the map before them. As Deryn watched, the gel layer smoothed and lost color, revealing a blank map of Europe.

"The situation here has gone...SOUR, to say the least." She said, shifting in her standing position. "THIS is the world we woke up to."

She pointed to the map, which suddenly had the lines and boundaries that Deryn had studied and memorized so many times.

"As you've undoubtedly seen, this is no longer the case. THIS, ladies and gentlemen, is the world we now live in, thanks to the Kaiser;"

The map changed again; Germany was suddenly turned a brilliant blood-red, and the red seemed to leak outwards. Deryn thought it might be the map malfunctioning or something similar, but then she realized the spread was staying within the borders of countries.

German controlled areas, she realized.

The red seeped outwards all around, consuming a disturbing amount of Europe. Most of France was engulfed, Austria-Hungary (to Alek's obvious horror) vanished completely, the Ottoman Republic sprouted red dots like it had a virus, and one long, red line stuck deep into the heart of Russia.

And worse still; tiny red dots sprang up around England, with one single dot on Scotland. Glasgow. HOME.

In one moment, the map went from Europe to Germany, and everything else.

"Barking spiders." Deryn whispered.

She noticed she wasn't the only one reacting. Dr. Barlow had turned pale and put her hand to her mouth, which it self was almost as shocking as the map's revelation. The lady boffin NEVER showed surprise, she'd said it herself...yet here she was, shocked.

The Sergeant's were reacting slightly differently. Niles was frowning and crossing his arms, grumbling in obvious thought. Harkness was leaning against the table, observing something in the upper-right corner, in what had once been France. Marasco was glaring at the map like he wanted to fight it, fists clenched at his side.

Deryn stared as well, feeling her own shock. This...this was barking BAD! The war had looked like it was over just weeks, clart, HOURS before, and now...now, it looked like it may have just happened, and Darwinism had lost.

Haunting music filled the bridge. For a moment, Deryn thought she was hearing things, but a glance over at the dolphin tank proved her wrong. Inside, every single dolphin was pressed against the glass, all humming some Clanker marching tune in perfect synchronization.

Three more voices joined theirs; the dolphins in the front pockets of the three Sergeants. Marasco's dropped down onto the table and added a higher counter-point to the music.

The whole scene was eerie and drive home to Deryn just how bad things had gone. She shivered and clutched at Alek's hand. He clutched back, face pale and skin sweaty.

"So, here is where we stand; as you can plainly see, we are currently low on allies. Austria-Hungary was, as of six hours, annexed by German due to "the abdication of it's rightful ruler-""

She glanced at Alek and nodded to him, noting "Brilliant move at that, Agent. I applaud your foresight in abandoning a lost cause-" then went back to the map.

"France has been caught by surprise and is currently in rather dire straights, as Sergeant Marasco undoubtedly can tell you."

Marasco nodded grimly, adding "The Clankers have fully-armored units inside Paris, and someone deployed Sky Sharks against the Eiffel Tower. It's bad."

Halsey carried on.

"The Ottoman Republic is, obviously, having a bit of trouble. Apparently, according to intelligence inside Istanbul, forces still loyal to the Sultan have acquired advanced German-based walkers, including several Seawolf-class water-walkers, and are currently on a war-march."

"The Committee-" The question slipped from Deryn's lips without meaning. Most of the group turned to look at her.

She stood firm. She KNEW the heads of the Committee for Union and Progress personally, barking spiders, she'd KISSED one of them! She had a right to be worried!

"Last we heard, the CUP had evacuated to the outskirts of the city." Halsey replied without a hitch. If she thought Deryn was speaking out of turn, she didn't show it. "Don't fear for them; retrieving them is one of our upcoming missions. That will be Second Squad's task, Sergeant Harkness. Do try and keep a low profile as you do it."

"Yes ma'am!" Harkness said, snapping a salute. Halsey once again went back to her speech as if she'd never been interrupted. It gave Deryn the shivers how she could do that. How could she be so calm during all this?

"Russia has successfully deflected the German force sent to invade, but they have their own internal problems now. The attack seems to have sparked something in her people. As of now, they are apparently engaged in a civil war. Intel is...SKETCHY at the very best, but it appears that a group calling themselves the Bolsheviks are attempting to dethrone the Tsar. He, too, is currently in hiding from them."

She shifted her look to Sergeant Marasco. "Once we're within range, Marasco, it will be First Squad's job to retrieve him and as many other high value personnel as possible."

"Understood." Marasco nodded back, face grim. "We'll bring them back safe."

"That may not entirely be possible Sergeant, current situation as it is...but do your best." Halsey noted, before moving on to the final part of her briefing.

"And, of course, England. You'll be glad to know your home has received the lightest of the attacks so far. However; London is burning, as is quite a bit of the countryside." Her face seemed to light up suddenly, a thought she enjoyed resurfacing. "On the subject of the attack; this came for you, Doctor."

She handed a tube of paper, like what would be carried by a messenger tern, to Dr. Barlow. The boffin took it, eyes hard...until she read the actual contents. As she did, her features lost their sharp anger, melting down into a sort of...MEALONCHOLY, if that was possible.

"Blast." Barlow muttered, shoving the paper into her pocket angrily. Deryn blinked to be sure she wasn't seeing things.

Dr. Barlow...SAD? Impossible. Or was it? Her eyes were damp, the makeup around them slightly running...was she CRYING?

Deryn turned away before the boffin noticed. This day was too barking STRANGE for her liking.

"What about that spot, up in Scotland?" Niles asked, pointing to the single red dot over Glasgow.

"Oh yes...a German airship was blown rather off-course during the London attack. It crash-landed outside Glasgow and the inhabitants...well, the Germans are being sent home in post boxes."

"Nice." Niles noted, grinning.

"I'm surprised they didn't make haggis out of them." Harkness added.

Relief filled Deryn; at least home was okay.

"So...any questions on the current state of the world?" Halsey asked. No one answered, except Marasco.

"Just one, ma'am. When do we rip out the Kaiser's fat heart?" He cracked his knuckles and grit his teeth.

"Not just YET, Sergeant. America herself has been caught by surprise as well. While we have yet to be actually attacked, we, ourselves, the _Dreadnought_ that is, aren't ready for a full-on fight. We've only got the equipment we were going to show off at the World Military Expo in two months. Our mission now is help with what we can, then return home to rearm."

Marasco looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he said "Copy" and fell silent.

Halsey looked around before moving on. "So; as it is probably rather obvious to you, now would be a rather dangerous time to send the three of you-" she pointed in turn to Dr. Barlow, Alek, and Deryn herself- "back to the Zoological Society, especially since the majority of their campus is now several metric tons of rubble. As of now, you are, by the order of you Lord of the Admiralty, reassigned to the _Dreadnought_ for the duration of this conflict. He believes, rightfully I would say, that you will be much safer and far more productive being here."

This news, when in comparison to everything else she'd just heard, didn't really phase Deryn. Her only thought was "I'm on an airship again! I can finally fly!"

Alek and Dr. Barlow seemed to take it a little harder. Alek's face fell (though that might have been him thinking about his daft scroll again) and the lady boffin made a dismissive snorting noise. Dr. Halsey didn't notice (or if she did she didn't mention it) and gestured to Marasco.

"Show the good doctor and her assistants to their cabins, Sergeant, then report to the infimery for treatment. That shoulder looks rather nasty."

"Yes ma'am!" Marasco saluted, then jerked a finger at Deryn. "Follow me."

After a moment of shock induced confusion, Deryn managed to figure out how to walk again and followed him off the bridge, Dr. Barlow and Alek at her side.

The whole group was silent as they moved down what Deryn assumed was the main walkway of the airship. Once again unlike her home, it was less like a walkway through and airship than a light-weight metal street, with walls and a ceiling. Every step reminded her of where she was, and what had happened, and who exactly was surrounding her.

Finally, Dr. Barlow cleared her throat.

"Sergeant...Marasco, is it?"

"Yes ma'am. Sergeant Major David Marasco, at your service." Marasco replied curtly, not even bothering to turn around.

"Yes...may I ask you something?"

"Long as its not classified."

"I would think this wouldn't be...it regards your...leader."

Deryn noticed the pause in the boffin's speech clearly, not so much because it was long but because it was there at ALL. Yet ANOTHER thing that the lady boffin did.

This day was turning out to be one of many first apperently. And bad shocks, if the boffin's current state was anything to go by.

"Halsey or MacPherson?" Marasco asked. "Cause MacPherson's our tactical commander, but Halsey oversees just about everything else..."

"Halsey. Specifically, has she ever mentioned her past to you?"

Marasco slowed, glancing back at her. For a moment, Deryn thought he was going to pull out the large, rather nasty looking pistol at his side and shoot the boffin, but he made no move to do so.

"She's told us some. I know she used to be part of your Socioty but left cause you weren't doin' anything."

He turned back, and added in a voice that Deryn was only able to hear due to experience gained on the _Leviathan_'s spine "Probably why you're getting the clart smashed out of you..."

"Yes, that is ONE reason. Do you know the other?" The boffin pressed. Marasco shrugged.

"Would she need another? Seems like that one's a pretty damn good one."

"She didn't quite leave on her own free will. Specifically, she was kicked out for illegal and immoral activities."

"You mean YOU kicked her out." The Sergeant turned around completely but kept walking, not even slowing down. He crossed his arms and frowned. "You're the head of the RZS ain't you?"

"Yes, I am." Dr. Barlow's throat tightened for a moment. She probably wasn't used to people talking back to her.

But, then again, Deryn thought to herself, the majority of the people she worked with weren't battle-hardened Clanker-hating American Sergeant Majors...

"So there you go. There any point to this little conversation?" Marasco noted, somehow managing to convey an incredible amount of contempt into his voice without changing his tone or facial expression.

"Simply just checking something." Barlow quieted. Marasco shrugged and turned back around.

"Here's your rooms. WE can only spare two right now, so Sharp and Ferdinand are going to have to bunk together."

He stopped in front of one of the doors and knocked loudly.

"Oi, Crumb! Time to move!" He bellowed. After a moment, the door opened slightly, revealing the face another soldier who Deryn took a long moment to figure out was a girl.

She was...STRANGE to say the least, more so than Hester, or Sixx. In addition to her lack of hair, her face looked...wrong, somehow. That, and her eyes seemed to be two different colors.

Tangled life threads, Deryn figured.

The girl, Crumb, looked at Marasco, then at Dr. Barlow, then back at Marasco.

"This the British boffin?" She asked. Her voice was as cold and strange as her face.

"Yeah. This is Barlow." Marasco replied. "You going to move?"

"Most irrational clothing." Crumb noted, before retreating back inside. "Give me a moment to put something on..."

Alek blushed, though Deryn wasn't quite sure WHY. Marasco seemed unsurprised.

"Fever doesn't much like clothes." He stated simply, crossing his arms and tapping his booted food.

"FEVER?" Deryn found herself asking. Marasco nodded.

"Her nickname. Her actual title's FRANCINE, but she HATES it. And during training she was always getting these colds and stuff, so she got the new nickname: FEVER." He explained.

Deryn nodded, not really listening. The door opened again, revealing Fever buttoning up the front of her uniform.

She didn't particuarlly seem in a hurry to do so, and Deryn got a good, long look down the open part of it.

As if she HADN'T seen enough to traumatize her that day...

Dr. Barlow grumbled something about "most improper," which Fever seemingly heard.

"They're BREASTS, Doctor. Standard female genitalia. I would assume both you and Miss Sharp have them." She said quite simply, no hint of embarrassment in her voice.

Alek blushed deeper and turned away. Fever noticed this as well, frowned, then reached for the front of her shirt. Marasco put a restraning hand on her shoulder.

"No flashing the Clanker. I'd rather not have to clean his brains off the ceiling." He said. Deryn wasn't sure if he was joking or not, but she dearly hoped he was.

Fever shrugged, then shook herself free of Marasco's grip and left down the hallway, hands in her pockets.

"Your room." Marasco said to Deryn, gesturing.

"What? You mean we have to use the room that...that..." Alek stuttered, face still as red as before. Marasco sighed and muttered something about "Clanker prudes."

"YES, the same. You have to sleep on the bed she lay naked in too, by the way."

Alek made a small choking noise and dropped to the ground, eyes rolling into his head. Deryn dropped next to him, fear filling her chest.

"He's fine. Just passed out." Marasco said confidently. Deryn checked the former prince's pulse and found the Sergeant to be correct. Alek's heartbeat was steady, if a little fast. She sighed, then hefted him onto her shoulder.

"Well, should probably get him onto the bed..." She said quickly, wanting very badly to get as far away from Marasco as possible. Even if it meant going into the same room Fever had just left...

"Do so. And get some rest. Dinner's at 2000 hours. They'll make a call, you can't miss it. Mess hall's that away, can't miss it either." He said, pointing towards the stern of the airship. Deryn nodded and lugged Alek inside, shutting the door behind her quickly. From the other side she heard the sounds of Marasco's boots on the metal deck, followed closely by Barlow's own, heading away from them.

She dropped Alek onto the bed as gently as she could, then sat, shaking, and tried not to cry.

"Barking spiders." She whispered into her hands, eyes shut tight. "Barking, blistering spiders."

Just WHAT had she gotten herself into?


	7. Chapter 6

Darwin's Fist

Chapter 6

Almost time...

Marasco glanced at his watch, a costly fabricated time piece that had been a gift for his appointment to Sergeant from his father, then nodded, pleased.

It was just about time for the annual post-mission Sergeant's Conference.

He put down his book (a copy of the Manual of Aeronautics, which he had been reading mainly for a chance to laugh at the inadequate British fabrications in it), retrieved Click from its small bowl near his bed, and grabbed his off-duty jacket. His battle-dress one was currently getting tailored to sew up the bullet hole, and probably getting cleaned too to remove the blood.

The lack of his uniform was a bit annoying to Marasco. It had more pockets than his off-duty one, which meant that he had to carry Click manually whenever he wanted to go somewhere with it. Which was not exactly an easy proposition, as anyone who's tried to handle a fish could tell.

"Meeting?" Click chirped, looking up at Marasco with its large, black eyes.

"Yep. Always." He put the dolphin on his shoulder, the normal place he stuck it when he couldn't put it in his pocket. Click liked being able to see and hear as he walked, picking up on random conversations as Marasco walked the halls and chattering with other dolphins and the occasional random message creature.

"Sharp?" The dolphin asked. Marasco's face turned hard.

"No, she's not going to be joining us."

"Good. Spagger."

The Sergeant grinned as the dolphin swore. Apparently the dislike of the Scottish girl wasn't only present in humans...though how the dolphin KNEW about her so quickly was beyond Marasco's comprehension. Heard it from another dolphin most likely. Harkness's if he had to guess.

"Yeah, she really is...but she's British, remember." He shrugged, making Click grab his collar with a fin to keep from falling off.

"Limey. Worthless wannabees." The last part Click said in Harkness's voice. Marasco remembered that very conversation, two days earlier during the other Sergeant's rant against having to retrieve the British delegation from the meeting. No Darwin ever wanted to do rescue ops. They all wanted the chance to fight and kick dorsal regions.

"That's them. Poor Sharp, having to pretend to be a boy to fight with them...she shoulda joined us."

"Females are just as, if not more, effective fighters in every respect except muscle build." Click added in Lt. MacPherson's clipped tones. He changed to Halsey's a moment later. "And that, my dear Lieutenant, can easily be rectified in many ways."

"Too right." Marasco glanced at the dolphin and felt the tiny shiver he usually got when it went on like this crawl up his spine. Halsey has assured everyone, both within Darwin's Fist and the American fabrication community, that the dolphins had not broken the First Law of Fabrication, but sometimes Marasco got the feeling that they had...and were just too damn smart to let it be known.

And it scared the clart out of him sometimes.

He slid the door to his quarters open and walked out, looking up and down the hallways out of pure habit. It wasn't like he was sneaking somewhere. And even if he HAD been, there wasn't a rule against a soldier walking the halls during the down time between missions. Hell, exercise was mandatory for most _Dreadnought _personnel, to help eliminate boredom and cabin fever and keep them in fighting shape.

But Marasco liked to make sure he wasn't followed ANYWHERE, be it to a secret meeting or simply to the bathroom. Mental exercise, he liked to believe, like a walk for the brain.

And, as the Marine Corps liked to say; "semper fidelis." Latin for "Always ready."

Sounded more like Darwin's Fist than the Corps to Marasco. The Marines sure as hell hadn't been ready for the Germans to attack them.

The hall was clear, and the Sergeant slipped out into it, sticking his hands in his pockets and waking somewhat slowly and carefully so Click didn't go tumbling off him. It would not be the best entrance to meet his fellow Sergeants with a frustrated, swearing dolphin. And, of course, Click would promptly tell the other dolphins there what happened and they would start glaring at him and things would just do downhill from there.

Though useful, memory dolphins had a tendency to be somewhat..._temperamental_.

This time, the conference was being held in Harkness's quarters. The location of it rotated as missions passed. Last time it had been Marasco's room, next time it would be Sergeant Nile's, who's quarters were a bit to the stern of his own.

He arrived quickly, checking the hallway to make sure it was clear (it was, as it should be at that time) and knocked quickly, a series of raps that sounded random but were actually a specific pattern.

The door slid open, pulled by Sergeant Niles himself.

"David. Good to see you, sir." He said, stepping back to let him in.

"Marcus."

This was the important thing about the Sergeant's Conference; it gave the three Sergeants of the Fist the chance to be themselves and not the hard-driving soldiers that they had to be. That meant a first name basis and a bit more relaxation than normal.

Marasco still tried to stay professional during them, but even he relaxed a little bit.

Inside the room were the rest of the usual group. Sergeant Harkness and the three Corporals attached to the Sergeant's, Shaw, Crumb, and Sixx.

This was standard as well. Even though it was technically the "Sergeants Conference", the other three soldiers had their place there as well. As Marasco himself liked to say; "A Sergeant is only as good as his Corporal".

As he moved inside, the four other soldier raised their heads in interest. Shaw, by the window, nodded to him. Harkness, Sixx, and Crumb, all of who were at the table, glanced at him at the same time and then went back to what they were doing, which was (at that moment) Crumb's apparent attempt to do something to Sixx's arm.

That wasn't a surprise either. Harkness's Corporal had lost her right arm and left leg in a training accident, and they had been replaced by biological prosthetics. They worked fine...most of the time. They were technically experimental devices, with Sixx being one of the first recipients of them. This was obviously one of the times that they didn't perform as advertised.

Harkness was clenching Sixx's other hand in a death grip as the Corporal looked away from her fake one. Crumb was busy under its fabricated skin with a long-handled probe, muttering to herself and occasionally shifting her dual-colored eyes to check something else.

"Well, all present and accounted for. Wonderful." Marasco said, sitting down. "Unless anyone has any problems, I'd like to call this meeting begun."

No one complained, as always. Marasco didn't even really need to say the words, but he liked to.

"So, what's the situation, David?" Niles asked, taking a chair next to him and passing out glasses and a bottle of whiskey to every member.

"Not good." Marasco cracked his neck then downed a slug of whiskey, feeling it burn on its way down his throat. "Barlow's getting nosy already."

"That was fast." Shaw noted darkly. No one disagreed.

"But expected." Harkness added. "I mean, she is a boffin isn't she? Of course she's going to show interest in us after what she's seen us do."

"Yeah; a BRITISH boffin." Niles noted. "Which means she's all high and mighty about it."

"Heard that when we rescued her." Sixx muttered quietly. She sounded on the verge of meal arcing, something that didn't surprise Marasco or anyone else in the room. Manual adjustments to biological prosthetics were not fun in the least, even when the person WASN'T wearing them at the moment. Hence Sixx's death grip on Harkness's hand.

"Easy, Izzy, she'll be done soon." Harkness soothed. Crumb made a dismissive noise and kept working.

"Barlow certainly seemed "high and mighty", as you called it, when you retrieved me." She said to Marasco. "How is she anyway? Still complaining about my rationality?"

"Haven't heard." Marasco shrugged and took another drink with a groan. "Haven't run into her since then. And honestly, I hope that I DON'T see her again, at least for a little bit. She gives me the creeps, and I ain't just talking about how she looks at me."

The other two Sergeants nodded in agreement.

"You've heard the rumors about her, right? What she did create those loris fabs?" Niles said quietly. More nodding.

"Lies though, I'd guess. Myths. I mean, you don't think she actually, you know…went surrogate with them." Harkness said, face paling and betraying the deep-set Clanker mindset within him.

"I don't know what to believe anymore with her." Niles answered. "I mean, she says she made the loris's to STOP the war and then when they aren't accepted she sends a god-damn BEHEMOTH after the "Ottoman" navy…why didn't she do that in the first place, huh?"

"Or call America to flatten Istanbul." Marasco agreed. "Would have given us a chance to show off and strike fear into the Clankers BEFORE Mexico."

More nods. The three Sergeants of the Fist usually thought along the same lines, admittedly with minor differences, but more or less solidly the same. It was one of the reasons they were so good at what they did. Lt. MacPherson had called it "near-telepathy".

"Not much of a target though." Shaw added from the window. "A full unit of us against two ironclads and a bunch of elephant walkers? That fight would be over in HOURS."

"Barely a FIGHT, more like a SKIRMISH, if you want to be entirely correct." Crumb said, twisting something with her probe and making Sixx yelp like a country girl with her skirt caught in a gust. The rest of the soldier ignored Sixx's moment of weakness.

"Haven't most of the "battles" so far been skirmishes in this war?" Marasco grumbled, a strange, dark mix of anger and want coming from where the whiskey had hit his insides. "I mean, everything the papers are touting the _Leviathan_ did as so great were over in minutes. That air battle over the Alps, the Behemoth attack, that fight in China with the kappa, the Goliath incident…nothing over an hour."

Still more nods of agreement. Secretly, Marasco had figured that most of the soldiers in the room wanted a chance to be in the papers. Not him of course, he HATED publicity. It always meant REPORTERS.

He shivered inside his jacket and took another drink. This looked like it would be one of the shorter meetings, one where the majority of the conversation was mainly gripes against the current situation. That was fine. If they got it out of their systems now, then they wouldn't use it when they were on the battlefield as an excuse to do something stupid. Like what had happened to Shaw's face in Mexico.

He took another drink as the image of Shaw laying face down in the mud, hair singed off and blood running down her face, or what was left of it, came back to him. He hated that image.

"Why're they saying the _Leviathan_'s so damn powerful right now anyway? "Britain's greatest airbeast" they're calling it." Nile noted. "It got shot down by eight German aeroplanes. INFERIOR ones too. Doesn't sound that great to me."

"Heh, yeah. _Dreadnaught_ woulda swatted them outta the sky and chewed up their base for good measure." Harkness agreed with a grim chuckle.

"Depends on where the base was." Sixx said. "I mean,what if it was in Berlin and they'd been using drop tan-OW! Damn it Fever!" She swore as Crumb made another adjustment.

"Quit your whining. Its just pain. I'm 98% finished here." Crumb replied, still calm as ever. Marasco grinned. If there was ever a person that could exemplify Darwin's Fist training making a person better, it was Fever Crumb.

"Just finish up." Harkness noted.

"Aye, you want to snog Izzy again don't you? Bet that quivering lip of hers gets the synapses in your head firing off." Shaw snarked with a crooked smile.

"And you want David, don't you Hester?" Sixx snapped back. "I heard your dolphin quoting you when you sleep."

Shaw laughed, a bark more than anything else. "You say that like its big news." She noted. "You've slept with him before, you _know_ he's damn good at-"

"Quiet." Niles barked, cocking his head to the side. "Hear that?"

Every soldier paused, Marasco included, listening. He couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary-

No, wait, there. The slight hissing, rippling noise of the ship uncloaking.

"What the hell? What's with the cloak drop?" Shaw asked.

"Something BAD I'd wager." Harkness noted darkly. Crumb finished with Sixx's arm and pulled the probe away, storing it in her chest pocket.

"Good. I need some action." She said.

"Be careful what you wish for-" Marasco said, only to be interrupted by a sudden, angry blaring, whooping noise that made him clap his hands to his ears, a move mimicked by the other two Sergeants and the three Corporals.

"You just might get it!" Marasco finished, standing so fast his chair went tumbling backwards.

They knew what the noise was; the alarm for an imminent air attack. THAT was why the cloak had been dropped;

Someone knew the _Dreadnought_ was there, and they were coming to get her.

"DARWINS! BATTLESTATIONS!" Marasco howled, nearly as loud as the alarm. The other soldiers scrambled for the door, Niles practically pulling it off its hinges in his eagerness to get out. The rest of the Fist soldiers clambered out like civilians fleeing a house fire, running for their gear and their stations.

Marasco let the rest of the group pass, grabbing Click from its place on the table. His station was on this floor anyway, or rather, the dorsal section above it, so they had a longer way to go. As soon as the two Sergeants and two Corporals managed to clear the way, Marasco himself left, hearing Shaw fall into step behind him they broke into runs, heading for the closest ready station, mid-way along their deck.

"You talk about me in your sleep, huh?" The sergeant noted as he pulled the ready room locker open and grabbed his gear from within. Dorsal combat suit made of fabricated leather and wool, reinforced with hemp fibers for defense against bullets and shrapnel, coral helmet with goggles and a breath-mask and a built-in dolphin holder that he put Click into, and a web gear belt with weapons and clips for fighting on the sheer back of the _Dreadnought_. From the very back he retrieved a Winchester Model 1912 pump-action shotgun, slipping it into the holster build into the back of his coat.

"ONCE. I talked about you in my sleep ONCE." Shaw replied with an eye roll. She retrieved her near identical gear as well, donning it quickly, the only difference being an EDR on her back rather than a shotgun.

"How cute." Marasco noted with a dark smile. Shaw returned it, an entire conversation passing between them without a single word being spoken. "I didn't know you cared."

"Yes you do! You care too! You barking love me!" Shaw said.

"Do not."

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

Marasco's response was cut off as the floor rumbled and he felt his ears pop slightly; the airship was rising, probably climbing to combat height. He glanced at Shaw, then hurried for the stairwell that led to the very top deck, Shaw hot on his heels. Their ready station they were supposed to be at was directly ahead of them, wedged between the stairs leading to crows nests and several of the larger gun turrets, their individual armament indicated by the ammunition feeds snaking up next to the stairs.

More alarms were blaring as he ran, shattering the stillness of the air around them and making his head ring.

"You'd think they'd tone those alarms down a bit…" He muttered angrily, holding his ears.

"Aye! Bring it up with MacPherson next time you get the chance!" Shaw shouted back. The two soldiers made it to their ready station and moved inside the tube-like structure of it, catching their breath quickly. Their job now was simple; wait for orders to ride the station topside and help defend the gun turrets there. Or, if they weren't needed, a stand-down order.

Marasco glanced over at Shaw, who smiled crookedly again. Without hesitation, they pulled close to each other and Shaw pressed her lips to his.

It was not an awkward kiss by any stretch of the imagination. Both Marasco and Shaw had done this many times before. Their pre-battle ritual, for luck and for courage and for who knew what else. For them, the dance of Darwinism was as well known as stripping a weapon or patching up themselves after a fight.

The Sergeant sighed against the Corporal's mouth, sliding his fingers into what was left of her hair following her last trip to the barber. She did the same, and leaned back, letting him press against her with more aggression. He took it greedily, as always, forcing her against the wall.

"Been wanting to do that for a while, haven't you?" He asked, catching his breath and grinning, body humming with a mixture of adrenaline and hormones. Shaw smiled back and laughed.

"Course I have, David. It's been too damn LONG…like I told Sixx."

"Agreed. Three days is too long." He whispered, kissing her deeply again for a second. "We need to rectify that…"

"After this alarm is dealt with I assume?" She asked, cocking her good eyebrow and smiling dirtily.

"Why not now?" He countered with a growl, gripping his sides possessively. "Any complaints to that, Het?"

"I wish we could…" She said quietly, sadness in her voice. "But I'd rather not, you know, DIE because we were…busy."

"Me either." He backed away from her and calmed himself with a couple breaths, letting the clear, collected personality that was normally him return.

Shaw was right though…he'd have to see her again when this was all finished.

Speaking of THIS…

"What the hell's going on anyway?" She asked, looking around. Marasco agreed; neither Click nor Shaw's dolphin Tom had made a peep.

"Not a clue…maybe we can stand down?" He guessed. That would be nice; being able to go back to his cabin with Shaw and finish what they'd started…

But of course, the war had other ideas. The alarms, which Marasco had tuned out until then, changed their pitch and urgency, going from "air attack" to "all hands to combat positions."

For Marasco and Shaw, that meant the line of turrets on the spine of the airship.

"Do it!" He shouted to her, strapping his breath mask over his mouth and pulling down the goggles over his eyes.

Shaw nodded and pulled the door of the room closed. There was a loud _click_ as the door sealed, and the floor rose, hydraulic pressure forcing it upwards. Marasco and Shaw looked up, watching as the ceiling above them split along a seam and retracted backwards.

Cold, high-altitude air rushed in, making Marasco's few inches of exposed skin instantly numb. Click and Tom made twin noises of complaint and snuggled deeper into their holders, effectively putting them in the perfect position for them to hear their master's voices. Up here, the wind caught any unamplified words and snatched them away to the stern.

"Com check." Marasco noted, directing his comment to Click. The dolphin heard it and transmitted it instantly to Tom, who relayed it to Shaw.

"Clear!" The Corporal's voice came through Click. Loud and clear; no transmission problems. Perfect.

"Got you. Move out!" Marasco stepped off the platform and moved along the foot holds in the skin of the airship. This wasn't a British airbeast with their web of riggings and horror stories of careless middies falling to their deaths. This was an American hybrid machine, made for efficiency and tactical superiority. Shaw came behind him, unlimbering her EDR as she did.

"You got something?" He called. She nodded.

"Speck, out of the corner of my eye! Mighta been a fighter, not sure."

"Probably wasn't…why would they decloak for one enemy bird?" Marasco asked, finding his position between the twin bow anti-aircraft guns. The gunners within were testing their weapons, the steel and reinforced domes of spinning full around and the four M2 .50 caliber machine guns mounted around them swiveling to their full extents. Marasco waved to the gunner of the rear bow turret, and he waved back, making a circle with his index finger and thumb.

"Rear turret is green!" Marasco barked, knowing that the words would not only go to Shaw but to the gun control dolphin. He returned the circle and moved on to the next turret, which was doing the same thing. Except the gunner in this one was obviously very angry, turning around in his seat and shouting at one of the crew behind him.

Marasco rapped on the glass, and the gunner nodded to him, shaking his head. He made another sign with his own fingers; all five fingers raised.

Five. That meant there was something wrong with the fifth important system in the turret; the ammunition feed.

"Front turret has a feed problem!" He reported. This time, he got something back from Click.

"Marasco, MacPherson. Be advised, Petty Officer Rack's feed manager is currently in the infirmary. I'm redirecting you to his place until we can get a replacement up there. Corporal Shaw will take up your position on the bow."

"Copy, ma'am! I'll be down in a second!" He clambered up higher, reaching the next set of foot holds easily. He barely had enough time to get into them before the _Dreadnought_ plowed through a massive cloudbank, partially blinding him in white. After a full minute, his vision cleared, and he was able to move again.

The cloud bank also seemed to be hiding something else; as he moved to the far forward ready station to return inside, he glanced out over the side of the _Dreadnought._ Visible against the clouds were one, two, no, THREE long, grey shapes. He recognized them easily;

ZEPPELINS.

THAT was what the ship had decloaked for; this was a show of force! There were reporters aboard now; undoubtedly, Halsey would take this chance to prove once and for all just how ready America was for this war. And an American airship coming from seemingly nowhere and destroying three zeppelins would certainly make the Clankers start quaking in their tin cans even if they didn't read the papers…

Marasco clambered onto the ready station plate and paused, looking at the grey splotches.

He saluted them, for as long as he could while the plate retracted inside the _Dreadnought_ and the hatch sealed over him again. An acknowledgement for the many unlucky young German men about to meet their maker.

The door unlocked and Marasco hauled it open, hurrying out towards the forward bow gun. He yanked his helmet off as he did, taking Click from its place inside it and stuffing the dolphin into his collar. The dolphin made an angry squeak and shifted right side up, glaring at Marasco before settling down against the fabricated wool.

"Flying cigars." It noted, quoting one of the Army Air Service Generals on zeppelins. Marasco just nodded, climbing the ladder to the turret.

From inside he could hear swearing and an argument underway. Someone (Probably PO Rack) was practically howling for "some splicing reject to clear the feed."

Marasco knocked on the hatch that sealed the turret from the rest of the airship.

"Sergeant Marasco! Open her up!"

The hatch opened out towards him, making him duck as it did, lest it crack his head. He scrambled inside and up.

The turret's interior was more spacious than it would appear on the outside. The glass dome and the four guns were only the parts that could be seen from the outside. Inside, there was room enough for four people to stand comfortably; the gunner, the fire control relay, and the two feed managers, each of whom doubled as a replacement for any of the other personnel should something happen to them in combat.

Three faces looked down at Marasco as he climbed in. He guessed the man already in the gunner's chair was Petty Officer Rack, a theory confirmed moments later by the sight of the man's name tag.

"Damn." Rack muttered. "When I asked for a replacement, I didn't expect them to send a Darwin."

"I was closest. Adapt and survive." Marasco replied. The phrase was basically the Fist's rallying cry, same as the Marine's "semper fi".

"Damn right." Rack agreed. He tilted the chair and unbuckled himself from it, gesturing for Marasco to take his place.

"Hold position, Petty Officer. I've got the feed manager spot covered for you."

Rack shook his head. "Straight orders from the loot herself. She wants you in the hot seat on this one."

Marasco blinked, shrugged, and climbed into the chair. If Lieutenant MacPherson wanted him to be gunner for this turret…then he was gonna be the splicing gunner for this turret.

He took a moment to reacquaint himself with the controls. Main control yoke directly ahead of him; thumb-triggers for the right MG's on its right, left MG's on its left, ammunition counter for both directly above them. Crosshairs directly in front of his eyes.

Perfect.

"Sound off!" Marasco barked.

"2, green!" That was the fire control officer.

"3, green!" The primary feed officer this time.

"4, green!" There was Rack, now in his new position.

"Solid copy! Turret is fully operational!" Marasco barked this last one to Click, who sent it on down to the main fire control center, buried somewhere in the bowels of the airship.

There was silence for a long moment as everyone readied themselves for their orders.

"Firing timer incoming!" The FCO shouted up. "T minus one minute thirty and counting!"

Marasco gripped the triggers eagerly, hands clenching against the fabricated wood of their construction. Once more the only sound was the shifting of the turret crew and the creaks and groans of the metal canopy above them as it passed through pockets of dense and then less dense air.

"Marasco, Shaw." Click spoke with Shaw's voice. Marasco shivered; it always gave him a strange chill to hear her voice come from the dolphin's mouth.

"Go ahead."

"You in position? We're getting barking close to those German gas-bags…"

"Affirmative. Countdown to firing is…"

He glanced at the FCO who mouthed "90"

"90 seconds." He finished.

"90? The hell is the el-tee thinking? That's practically a broadside!"

"No practically; it IS one." Marasco slowed, running over the design of the _Dreadnought_ in his head. "Shaw, where are you?"

"Just behind your turret, sir. Standard position."

"Move higher. Over and onto the starboard side if you have too. When we fire at that zeppelin from this close, who knows what's going to come flying off it."

"Yes sir! I'm Oscar Mike!"

The sounds of Shaw's footfalls echoed through the turret like someone striking a metal pan with a wooden spoon, then faded as she made it across to the starboard side.

"Fifteen seconds!"

Marasco glanced up and out the glass canopy, watching the dark shape of their first target slowly approach. DAMN it was big…had to be an Albatross glider carrier or something of the same size. Maybe even a Kaiser-class assault zeppelin! What a prize THAT would be to blast out of the sky…

The other two air enemy airships hung back slightly. They were smaller, probably Kondor troop carriers or Luftpanzer walker transports. Must be part of an air convoy, maybe bringing fresh troops and machines to the Eastern Front against Russia.

"Ten! Nine! Eight…"

The Sergeant snapped his attention back to the steadily approaching airship. His fingers twitched.

"Four! Thee! Two! One! FIRE AT WILL!"

With a dark grin, Marasco squeezed the triggers.

There was a click; the first rounds sliding into the quartet of machine guns around him. Then glorious, horrific noise. Four guns spitting half-inch incendiary rounds at who knew how many hundreds of rounds a minute. A rattle joined the sound of gunfire as the spent shells rained from the MG's ejection ports, forming a golden stream down and out through the now-open shell vents on the floor.

The Sergeant tracked his line of fire up and across the side of the zeppelin, starting tiny fires along her black flanks. Lines of fire lit the sky like a lighting storm, dazzling him. The flaming lines of his tracer rounds, the fire from the other turrets to the aft of him, and the Clanker airship's own turrets returning fire against the_ Dreadnought._ He felt his mouth moving, but if he was saying anything, he couldn't hear it over the cacophony of battle.

Then all at once the noise from his turret stopped. All four guns fell silent.

"CLART!" He shouted, squeezing the triggers again to no avail.

"Mate!" Came the responding curse in Rack's voice from the feed station. "Bad shell jammed the autoloader! Can't clear it!"

"Switch to manual!" Marasco barked. Rack cursed again but obviously replied, as the sound of a heavy lever being pulled filled the turret, and a moment later the guns clicked again, indicating their ability to fire. Which Marasco promptly did.

He changed tactics as he did. Now, his rate of fire was limited to what ammunition could be cranked into the storage bays of each turret by the two feed operators. No more spray and pray; he'd have to aim now. Easy enough.

He glanced through the sight, looking over the body of the zeppelin. She was aflame but not falling, her fire-control teams obviously keeping the blazes under control. She was moving too, trying to pull ahead of the _Dreadnought_ and escape.

Marasco shifted and swiveled the turret around, tracing fire along her skin until he found the housings for one of her engines. Half-inch rounds pounded the metal armor of the pod until it split open like an over-ripe melon and pealed away in the fierce wind. He drilled more shells into the open hole until smoke and fire belched from it and the entire pod sheered away from the airship, a great ugly comet of metal whirling away towards the earth. The propeller wrenched itself free at the last moment and spun into the _Dreadnought_'s side, cutting deeply amidships and making the whole craft shudder.

"Mate!" Marasco spat. THAT hadn't been his intention…hopefully the damage control teams could deal with that.

From below him came a knock on the hatch. Marasco turned back to the battle, letting the feed managers deal with it. They were closest. He kept his attention on the enemy, continuing to fire bursts at anything he figured was important. Gun positions, external hatches, hangers. Once he was out of those he waited, letting the feed boxes refill fully.

"Middie Sharp, reporting!" Came a female voice from below. Marasco cranked around in his seat to look behind him. Sure enough, there she was.

"Sharp? What the clart are you doing here?" He asked, giving a quick spray at the enemy airship to make sure he could talk for a moment without taking a round.

"Brought your replacement! And you're boffin wants you in the hanger!"

Halsey wanted him in the hanger? Strange, why hadn't she called via Click…

But better safe than sorry. If the turret had a full crew again he wasn't needed. And there were things he could be more useful at than spraying a zeppelin.

He scrambled out of his seat and slid down the ladder, landing with a grunt and standing. The replacement feed manager climbed up the moment he was clear and the hatch closed behind him, leaving Marasco alone with Sharp.

The Scottish girl looked far different than he remembered her; now she was clothed in a black and grey officer's uniform, and her hair was mostly gone, shaved down to regulation length. She looked like a proper Darwin's Fist officer now.

With the exceptions that Marasco towered over her by a good two feet and she was obviously not happy with her outfit. As he watched, she adjusted the front again, apparently trying to make it stretch and hide her breasts, something it wasn't doing even though it looked about a size too big for her and her tits weren't anything impressive either. Shaw and Sixx had her out-sized by at least two cup sizes.

"Uniform too big?" He noted neutrally. Click chuckled from his shoulder and noted "if she's a girl, where's her tits?" in the voice of Flight Officer Thursday.

"Aye." Sharp replied, looking down quickly and (Marasco swore) blushing. "Couldn't find a smaller one."

"Seriously?" Marasco cocked an eyebrow. "Strange."

He started walking for the hanger, Sharp taking to her heels to catch up. She practically had to run to keep up with him he noticed.

"They said-something about-the _Leviathan_'s rations-being less effective-at maintaining body mass-than yours…" She said, panting as she ran. The Sergeant nodded, then, after a moment, grabbed her by the back of the collar and her pants, pulling her upwards and onto his shoulder like a sack so he didn't have to slow down. Sharp complained loudly, but he ignored it.

"I would say that makes sense. Too many potatoes and greens, not enough protein. He said neutrally. Personally he figured that there were a lot of other things about the Fist that were better than whatever the British Air Service had but he didn't mention them. "You're bound to loose body weight from that alone, not to mention the exercise you get climbing rigging and the stress…"

"I like potatoes." Sharp said quickly, earning a grin from Marasco.

"What good airman doesn't?" He chuckled. He shifted her, frowning. "You feeling alright? You're light as a shark rocket.

"Aye, fine. I've always been skinny." She replied quickly, but he noticed she looked away as she said it. He didn't press the issue.

The _Dreadnought_ shuddered, and he hauled her onto his shoulder like a sack of grain, breaking into a full-on sprint.

Even in full dorsal combat gear, the Sergeant could keep up a damn fast pace. Having Deryn on his shoulder didn't slow him in the least.

He took a corner and ran down the hallway to the main hanger, the main interior door of which was wide open. From inside, the sounds and smell of an intense firefight were evident.

A couple random bullets zinged by Marasco's head, missing Sharp by inches. She cried in surprise, and Marasco dropped her, shouting "keep your head down and don't move!" at her before dashing into the hanger.

"Intense firefight" didn't cover what was going on; apparently the hanger's external doors were open as well. Somehow the Germans had managed to land a good number of their troops on the_ Dreadnought._ They were currently engaged with the ship's compliment of Marines and all of Third Squad. The battle looked relatively even at this point; both sides had good cover and plenty of combat gear to use.

Quickly, Marasco spotted Sergeant Niles behind a mounted M1895 Colt-Browning machine gun and joined him, sliding into cover behind a crate that used to hold combustible lemons but was now thankfully empty.

"Sitrep!" He barked, pulling out the shotgun from his back again and making sure there was a shell in the chamber.

"Someone opened the bay doors and these bastards came in!" Niles roared back, firing off a long burst from the gun. A pair of Germans who had been running at his position dropped in a spray of red, helmets falling with twin clatters.

"What's our tactical position?"

"We're holding out easily enough, but they're latched onto us. Some new toy of theirs, grappling hooks fired by steam catapults."

"Brilliant. Has anyone managed to get them free?"

"Not yet, they're too busy dealing with the Clanker ground-pounders!"

"Sounds like a job for me. Keep them busy!" He ordered, standing and getting ready to move. Before he could, something came arcing his way from the German lines. It bounced with a metal "ding" and rolled to a stop by him. A live stick grenade.

Without hesitation, Marasco dashed over and punted the device high and over him, sending it flying back into the German lines. It exploded above them, doing no real damage but making several Clankers duck their and slacken their fire, long enough for Marasco to dash over and behind them.

Two saw him move and turned to engage, one howling "Amerikaner!" before Marasco fired at him and sent him tumbling away into his buddy. He vaulted a set of boxes, kicking aside the machine gun crew who had set up there and knocking over their weapon (a Maschinengewehr 08) as he did. With that last obstacle cleared, there was nothing between him and the lines holding the two airships together.

Nothing…except the fact that the "lines" were made of high-tension steel, the same as was used to haul artillery emplacements behind walkers.

And all Marasco had with him was a shotgun and a memory dolphin.

He glanced around, swearing. He needed something that could deal with steel quickly, and he needed it-

Ah, that would work! In the corner, another crate, bearing the logo of Aperture Combat Technologies. More combustible lemons probably. Just what he needed.

He yanked the slide on his shotgun and fired the fresh shell, blasting open the crate and letting its contents spill to the floor. Just as he'd hoped, a smell of citrus filled the air and several dozen yellow objects came to rest at his feet.

Marasco grabbed three, pulled their pins, and hurled them with all his might at the cables.

They soared away, hissing, before popping open seconds later and spilling a flaming, acidic mixture into the air. The goop slashed across the cables and an unfortunate Clanker who got too close and began dissolving everything it touched. Marasco put the Clanker out of his misery before it could truly begin with a shotgun round.

The cables smoked, then began to groan, the stresses of holding two airships close together beginning to pull them apart. One snapped and whipped back, slicing open another set of crates and nearly taking the head off a Marine charging the German lines.

The noise seemed to reach the soldiers in the bay, and it seemed like half the Clankers turned and spotted Marasco.

The Sergeant had just enough time to think "oh, this is going to HURT" before they opened up.

He dodged and weaved, seeking cover, but before he could one of the machine guns opened up. He howled as bullets chewed up his back and legs, throwing him to the floor and sending his shotgun flying away and out the open hanger door. He bounced, and his arm shattered, sending fresh agony through him.

He rolled to a stop, uniform smoking, and coughed. Blood came up. No surprise there, he was sure he'd probably lost a lung. Yes, now he was BEYOND sure; he couldn't breath right.

Again. Great.

Marasco closed his eyes and waited. Two seconds, three, four…

Then it started. The pain stopped coming, turning off like water from a tap. His mind cleared, and he stood, shakily. A look down at himself showed the many holes that would have killed a normal man slowly beginning to close, blood drying over them and flaking off into the air. Strength returned to him, and he clenched his fists, smiling darkly.

Something tickled the back of his throat and he coughed, forcing something solid into his mouth. He spat, and a bloodied German machine gun round fell to the deck with a clatter. Gross. Now his mouth was going to taste like chordite for the rest of the day…

He'd worry about that later. Right now, he had a hanger to clear and several more lines to sever.

His shotgun was gone, probably now stuck deep in the earth the twin airships were passing over. He had his utility knife, but it was just a fancier, more useful model of the British rigging knife, barely useful in a fight. He had the lemons, but they were out of reach, and more than likely if he made a run for them another Clanker would fire on them and set the whole crate aflame. He had his fists, but the Germans had guns. Not a good combination. He needed a firearm.

His uniform writhed, and Click poked its head out from a bullet hole, sucking on the bullet that had made it contentedly. It was unsurprisingly not hurt. Memory dolphins were tough little fabs, biologically hardened against just about anything.

"Mmm…lead." It said around the round. Marasco grinned then picked up the dolphin and squeezed it till it spat out the bullet.

"Sic em." He told the dolphin, then reared back and hurled it at the nearest German.

The unfortunate soldier had enough time to mouth "Was-" before Click latched onto his face and started biting everything it could reach with its tiny, sharp teeth.

The soldier fell backwards, swiping at his face and screaming something that roughly translated into English as "It's eating my nose!"

The Sergeant rushed forward and grabbed the German's dropped rifle, not bothering to check what model and manufacture it was. It was bolt action, and it had a bayonet. It would work.

Click still had the German occupied, and Marasco used his distraction to stab the bayonet blade deep into his chest and through into the floor plating. The German fell still, and Click made a disappointed noise. He grabbed the dolphin and stuffed it back into his coat, retrieving the rifle with a grunt and a spray of blood. A quick examination proved it to be a Gewehr 98 again, like the one carried by the last Clanker he'd killed face to face. A weapon Marasco, like the rest of the Fist, was cross-trained in the use of, even if he wasn't a marksman with it like he was with the M1903 and EDR.

He gave it a quick shake, sending a shower of blood from the bayonet and barrel. A second let him see that the magazine was mostly full, missing only a couple rounds that he feed back into it with stripper clips taken from the dead German. He cycled the bolt, ejecting the metal backing of the clip away, then grabbed Click again.

"Open call!" He ordered. Click nodded, connecting with every dolphin within it's range.

Marasco grinned, then spoke.

"Darwin's! Its time to push these bastards out of our hanger! KILL THEM ALL!"

A chorus of shouts answered him, and the fire from the Darwin controlled side of the hanger intensified, bullets pinging in all directions. Germans danced and screamed and dropped, the smell of blood and cordite and voided bowels filling Marasco's nose.

The Sergeant joined them, sighting up an enemy at the far end of the hanger and blasting his helmet clean off. On instinct he reloaded, feeling the heat of the spent shell as it went hurtling by his hand.

He glanced around for another target, but found none. The few remaining Germans in the hanger were retreating, leaving behind their dead and wounded and quite a bit of their gear. A few Darwin's fired parting shots, to no avail.

The last of the Clankers leapt aboard their airship, and with bursts of hot gas the anchors holding the two vessels together were released, letting them drift apart.

Marasco safed the rifle, slung it across his back, and walked to the edge of the hanger to watch the enemy flee. The zeppelin grew smaller by the second, falling away from the _Dreadnought_ like a stone as she lost altitude. Streams of gunfire from the turret's followed, and after a long moment one of them found something important.

With a dull _boom_, the zeppelin erupted into a scorching, snarling cage of flame, sinking faster and leaving a long trail of debris as she sank.

The Darwin's howls and hoots followed her down, mixed with the happy cries of the memory dolphins watching.

Smiling, Marasco turned away, his job done for the moment. Now all he had to do was report to MacPherson on what happened, drop off the captured rifle at the armory, get himself checked out in the infirmary and return his dorsal combat gear, and he'd have nothing between him and a night with Hester except-

He slowed, combat senses tingling again. Someone was watching him...

A glance out the door showed who; Deryn, still where he'd left her and apparently unharmed.

But plastered on her face was a look that Marasco interpreted as shock, fear, and revulsion. Like she'd just seen something horrifying.

OH CLART. She'd been in the door. She MUST have seen him get shot...

Before Marasco could call out to her, to explain, do ANYTHING, the Scottish girl turned on her heels and ran.

"CLART." He spat.

So much for his night with Hester.


	8. Chapter 7

Darwin's Fist

Chapter 7

"Mate. Mate. Mate!"

The words left Marasco's mouth as both a curse and a statement of what one of the things he'd rather be doing right now. He did it again, because he didn't really have anything better to say at that moment.

"Mate. Mate. MATE!" His foot kicked a spent shell and it went tinkling and tumbling away cross the hanger.

The clean-up from the battle, which Marasco was unofficially overseeing, was already in full swing, Third Squad and those Marines in good enough condition to do so moving away debris and retrieving salvageable war material. Rifles, belts and single rounds of unused ammunition, helmets and knifes and uniforms.

It had been, as Lieutenant MacPherson declared, a "productive little scrap". And Marasco had to agree…if you were only counting dead Clankers.

It hadn't been a bloodless fight though. Off in the corner lay nine bodies, covered in olive-drab sheets with U.S. Marine Corps boots sticking out from under them. Nine unfortunate Marines, the first casualties the _Dreadnought_ (and possibly all of America) had suffered in their fight against Germany, if you didn't count those non-combatants and Pinkerton agents killed during the Goliath incident.

It turned Marasco's stomach a little. He'd seen plenty of death before, even during training. Half his original squad had been obliterated in the same training accident that took Corporal Sixx's limbs, blown to bits by an exploding airship. But these deaths had been PREVENTABLE. If he'd moved faster, if he'd arrived sooner, if ALL of First Squad had flooded the bay…

No. No point in further diving into misery. He was already worked up over what Sharp had seen. Or rather, the fact that he didn't know exactly what she'd seen, and what she was probably now telling either her boyfriend or her boss.

And on top of that, there was the worrying question of how the Germans had managed to board the superairship in the first place. The hanger doors on _Dreadnought_ were supposed to be impenetrable from the outside. And Marasco had seen that proven time and again, against projectiles and fabs and even vehicles. And yet…

And yet the Germans had not only opened them, but landed a large number of troops aboard. Had Third Squad not been there to do the heavy lifting, things probably would have ended a lot worse than they did.

Sounded like someone needed to have a talk with the airship's designers about the definition of "impenetrable."

The Sergeant Major glanced around the bay again, looking over the soldiers still in it. Third Squad was starting to move off, and the Marines were heading back as well, some taking a moment to mourn their lost brothers before leaving for their own quarters. Marasco whispered a quiet "semper fi" to them as they departed.

Then he too started to walk for the door. If the rest of the soldiers were leaving with the job unfinished (which it obviously was, from what he could see) then that meant that the "clean up crew" was about to come in and deal with it.

And Marasco did NOT want to be in the hanger when _they_ showed up. Because coming with them would probably be the reporters.

And he'd already had one nasty brush with being compromised today, with Sharp. He didn't need two nosey newshounds asking him all sorts of questions.

He had to go find Sharp anyway. Hopefully she hadn't said anything yet, and he could set her straight. Or at least, do SOMETHING.

As he turned, he heard the main door open again, four voices echoing off the walls. Just as he'd worried, here came the reporters. With Lt. MacPherson and Dr. Halsey it would seem. The four were chatting animatedly, the two reporters firing off questions like a pair of AA guns, and the boffin and el-tee answering them just as quickly, clipped and professional as always. Marasco turned, hoping to slip away unnoticed, but Rogers caught him and called out "Sergeant! A word, if you please?"

_More like a thousand_ Marasco thought grimly, moving over to her and bracing himself for a long, dull, possibly dangerous conversation. Lt. MacPherson saved him before it could begin, thankfully, striding forward and saying to the reporter "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a word with the Sergeant myself about what happened here."

Rogers looked like she wanted to argue, but dropped it as she noticed a curious Marine wandering over and she quickly latched onto him instead.

Marasco breathed a quiet sigh of relief. At least that was ONE problem taken care of. He did NOT feel in the mood to chat with the woman. Or Malone, for that matter.

"Walk with me, Sergeant." MacPherson said. It didn't sound like an order, but Marasco knew instantly it was. He did just that.

"Something wrong, ma'am?" He asked, instantly guessing a couple things that could be just that.

"Nothing of your fault, Marasco. Merely an acceleration of already laid plans. I just had a most interesting talk with Miss Sharp."

The Sergeant's spine tingled and his hands suddenly started to sweat. So Deryn HAD told someone; his boss.

Which, in a way, was a GOOD thing. MacPherson probably knew everything Sharp did, and then some. It wasn't being compromised if you told it to someone who knew.

"I can guess about what." He said quietly, looking around to make sure the reporters weren't tailing them. They weren't, thankfully; they'd sunk their claws into the unfortunate Marine private, who Halsey was promising the Silver Star and Purple Heart for his actions in the fight. That was fine with Marasco. Let someone else be the war hero for once.

"She wasn't sure WHAT she saw…but she said that it looked like you died, and got back up again anyway. That's effectively what happened, I assume?"

Marasco nodded. "Took an MG spray. Chewed me up good."

"But you healed from it. And she saw."

"Pretty much." He nodded grimly, heart suddenly pounding and the fear that should have been in his veins during the fight now making an appearance. The Lieutenant nodded and gave a slight smile.

"Once again you provide us a useful service in revelations," She said. "A little bit earlier than planned, admittedly. But better to have the rumors start now, on our terms and control, than from the Germans, where they would immediately be turned into conspiracies."

Marasco nodded, but his fear stayed. What she had just said would make sense only to a Darwin; part of the reason she'd said it that way, probably.

The revelation she was speaking of was the one major thing that set Darwin's Fist apart from other American (and, for that matter, other nations) military forces. Yes, they had the best training available, but so did the Marines. Yes, they had good gear. But again so did the Marines and, to a lesser extent, the Army. Yes they had drive, but all American Darwinists had that. Or at least, most who HAD reason to have it.

No. The thing that set Darwin's Fist out amongst the other military forces of the world were their life chains. Or rather, what had once been them.

Marasco, and every member of the Fist, was a walking, talking, breathing, thinking breach of British Darwinism Law.

They were fabricated humans.

Of course, they hadn't KNOWN that was to be their fate when they signed up. They were just told they'd become the best of the best, and they'd believed that meant they would be Marines with extra training.

And then, once their training had finished, they were told to report for a final procedure (supposedly an inoculation), and those who had woken found themselves much more than human. Which had caused some serious problems to say the least…several near-suicides and a couple full-on mental breakdowns, among other minor troubles.

But after their initial shock, the members of Darwin's Fist realized what being a fab meant. Not, as the Monkey Luddites assumed, a human with extra limbs or scales or anything like that. Instead, it was the same as being a normal human…but MORE. They looked mostly the same, maybe a bit bigger with denser muscles, but they could run faster, jump higher, fight harder, and (most importantly) they healed from any non-catastrophic wound in seconds. They couldn't regrow limbs…but a bullet through the heart would only slow them down.

And a couple days of smashing brick walls with kicks and fighting as fast as a cat could twist in mid-air would make ANYONE forgive what had happened to them and just enjoy it.

Of course the "pure Darwinism" rule that had been implemented a month into their training and carried over into their post-fabrication cycle helped too…mating as a human was enjoyable. Mating as a fab, with all your senses sharpened to a razor point and your body modified to practical perfection…

Marasco shook his head clear of his fear and self-dialog. Now wasn't the time to think.

"So, do you want me to go to Sharp and explain?" He asked, glancing over and down at MacPherson. While she was also a fab, the el-tee had gotten the "officers cocktail" of life chains; less on brawn, more on brains. Though she didn't seem like it, MacPherson had the mind of a genius.

"No. THAT will be handled by the appropriate outlets. Your job in this particular endeavor has been completed, quite satisfactorily I must say. Now, I need you to prepare First Squad for your next mission."

The Sergeant nodded, trying to remember what it was. His head was still a little fuzzy from the healing.

"We're going to Russia, right? Rescuing the tsar and his family from rebels."

The Lieutenant nodded. "That is your primary objective, but with the news we're receiving on Russian wireless, that may not be possible now. It seems that the Bolsheviks have managed to catch the tsar's forces at the right time and are sweeping through rather brutally I'd say."

"You approve?" Marasco frowned slightly. MacPherson smiled slightly, showing slightly sharpened teeth, one of the few peculiar results of her specific fabrication.

"You know me, David. I've always been about efficiency." She said the last part with a quiet little laugh that sent shivers up the Sergeant's spine and made him blush.

EFFICIENT was probably a good word, yes…BRUTAL would also work. And DOMINATIVE if you really wanted to get into the details.

"Well…yes." Marasco adjusted his suit's collar, suddenly realizing he was still in his spine uniform. Right, he'd been meaning to take that off…damn MacPherson. Always knew how to make him uncomfortable.

The Lieutenant seemed to notice.

"Hurry along, Sergeant. I need you prepped and ready to deploy by 2300 tonight."

"2300?" That was DAMN late for a mission…seemed like too much downtime.

"You'll need the dark." She replied simply, and Marasco accepted it. She'd probably explain everything at the briefing, when they couldn't be overheard by reporters.

Speaking of them, Marasco glanced back over his shoulder again to check on Rogers and Malone. They'd drained the Marine dry and had now focused on Sergeant Niles and Corporal Crumb, who apparently had stayed behind to assist with the clean-up. Made sense. Niles didn't like to leave anything undone. Hence why he was head of Third Squad and not on the frontlines. Dogged determination was good if you were guarding a superairship, but on the battlefield you had to know when to cut your losses and run.

Moving around them were soldiers in the pale-green of non-combat personnel. Another shiver rattled up the Sergeant's spine as he realized they were the clean-up crew. The feeling wasn't from their job. He didn't mind clearing bodies and gear after a battle. No, what made him shiver was where the majority of the crew came from.

Not everyone made it through the procedure after all…Darwinism wasn't a perfect science by ANY stretch, and despite all precautions and tests, sometimes things went WRONG. If the unfortunate victim of these incidents was extremely lucky, they ended up with something like MacPherson's teeth or the bug-bite like scars on Marasco's own forearms. Something that was strange but didn't affect tactical effectiveness. If they were slightly less lucky, they died. Like Adams, Marasco's former CO. If they weren't…they ended up like the clean-up crew.

"Washing out" like they did wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Certainly most of them hadn't received lifestyle-ending unwanted mutations, instead having merely career ending ones. They were still human, and not to be degraded and insulted like some of the less-kind members of the Fist liked to do. Most of them had found viable non-combat roles in the Fist, clean-up crew included. Corporal Everdeen, for example, was living a quiet, normal life at the Fist's main base in Seattle as an ordinance specialist, despite the mental instability that she had developed, and in fact was now pregnant with the child of her fellow imbalance-washout Private Melark, who she'd grown close to while they were both being treated for their individual problems. Chell Johnson, older sister of Private Johnson, had taken a job as a weapons tester for Aperture Combat Technologies after she'd been rendered mute, and was currently working with Wheatly Merchant to develop some form of Darwinist firearm.

"Are you alright, Sergeant?" MacPherson's voice cut through Marasco's thoughts again and he blinked. Damn it, that was the second time in as many minutes he'd gotten sidetracked…not good.

"No, I don't think so…getting stuck in memories again." He muttered, putting a hand to his eyes and rubbing them. MacPherson nodded understandingly.

"Go get some rest. I'll take care of the rifle." She said, and for a moment Marasco heard not the hard voice of his commanding officer but the tones of Sophie MacPherson, the girl he'd once thought he'd loved.

"Sure." He unslung the captured Clanker rife from his shoulder and handed it to her, smiling tiredly. She accepted it and holstered it over her own shoulder. With a final nod, Marasco finally left the bay, boots thumping slowly against the deck.

He felt suddenly drained; the adrenaline crash mixed with the intense energy it took to repair internal injuries. He knew what he SHOULD do; go straight to the infirmary to have his wounds checked, drink a large glass of water, preferably one with salt in it, and then eat a high-protein meal, possibly followed by a quick nap.

But he couldn't. He just COULDN'T.

He needed something even MORE basic than food and water. He needed something to prop him back up mentally and physically before he even thought about doing anything but lying down. He needed an anchor.

He needed Hester.

And so, without further ado, he went in search of her.

He had a pretty good idea of where she would be. Since she'd been on the spine when he'd been called away, she would have followed her procedure for post-combat operations and climbed back inside, doffed her gear, and headed for her quarters.

So that was he headed. The halls of the _Dreadnought_ were empty, as they should have been at that point. Most everyone was at their ready station (or safe zone if they were one of the non-combat personnel aboard). Marasco would have been at his by now if he hadn't been sidetracked by the turret and then the fight in the hanger bay.

On that, he really needed to look into HOW the Clankers had managed to board-NO, not right now. He could deal with that AFTER he didn't feel like he was going to collapse. Though he didn't want to admit it, it was starting to seem like his revelation to Sharp had shaken him more than he'd like to admit.

It took him a moment to realize he was outside Shaw's quarters. He'd lost track of time. Not a good sign. He was starting to loose focus.

Before his mind could go anywhere else, he knocked on the door, a quick machine-gun like series of five raps.

Even before his hand had left the door it was sliding open and a steel grip was closing around the front of his uniform. The Sergeant had barely enough time to inhale before he was pulled forward bodily into the room and slammed against the door hard enough to make his head ring.

He groaned, putting his hands up in a defensive stance and his mind half-full of fearful theories of German saboteurs and moles before he felt scarred lips on his own.

"You're _late_." Shaw growled into his ear. Typical Hester; impatient and acidic as anti-walker airburst shell liquid.

"Blame the Clankers. Had a bit of a tussle." Marasco replied. "Tried to shoot me up."

"AGAIN?" Shaw pulled back and ripped open the front of his suit, pressing her fingers to the red marks where he'd taken machine gun bullets.

"You bastard." She snarled again. "You had some fun without me!"

"Not like I planned it." He said with a shrug, not bothering to re-seal his suit. Shaw just glared, or rather, one of her eyes glared. Her normal eye. The other one, which her scar bisected, was a fabricated replacement; a beastie. It couldn't really move much.

"You owe me, David." She said, but there wasn't any anger in her voice. Not that he needed to listen. She never called him by his first name if she was mad. Then it was always "Marasco" or if she was really ticked off, "Sarge."

"Why do you think I came here?" He replied, already feeling better. Shaw snorted and moved off, letting Marasco pry himself off the door (which had slowly started to become grooved in the shape of his body from the many times this scene had replayed itself, with a miminum of differences between the incidents) and move deeper into her quarters. He doffed the upper part of his uniform, both because it was too warm for the well-heated quarters and also because he needed the air on his skin, especially the multiple places he'd been shot in the last 24 hours.

Shaw's quarters, as befitting a Corporal of Darwin's Fist were, while not incredible, certainly impressive. To someone such as, say, Deryn Sharp, who'd never seen anything except the "quarters" (Marasco had seen them in newspaper pictures and described it more as a "morgue") on the Leviathan, it would seem like a palace, with a bunkroom, main living space, and a full bathroom (with a shower none the less)

Shaw was currently in the latter; Marasco could hear water running, barely covering the sound of the Corporal humming. She came back out with a damp rag, which she handed to Marasco.

"Thanks." He pressed it to his side, which was still aching slightly around the bullet holes. The cool dampness erased that, letting him sit back and relax for a bit.

There was a rustle from across the room and a piece of cloth came fluttering to his side; Shaw's jacket. He glanced over to see her grinning, wearing nothing but the sleeveless cotton garment already becoming known as a "tank top" for its pioneer use by Gossard and her fellow tankers.

"What? Thought you might feel uncomfortable being the only one topless" She said, cocking her undamaged eyebrow. Marasco just laughed.

"I'm never uncomfortable in THAT situation." He grinned, then stood and went to the small refrigeration unit in the corner, helping himself to a fabricated grain beer inside. He grabbed a second and tossed it to Shaw, who caught it easily. They clinked them together and popped the caps off simultaneously.

"To a successful mission?" She asked.

"A successful UPCOMING one. You remember what we have to do, right?"

"Goin't to Russia, right? Save the tsar's sorry dorsal regions." Shaw took a long drink.

"Or try to. MacPherson's saying it might be a fool's errand."

"But she's still sending us anyway, aye?"

"Aye. Then again, even if we fail to get the tsar, there's still his family. I mean, hell, he's got a daughter-"

"Anastasia. I read about her in the papers a couple days ago. Somethin' about how she was interested in courting the former Prince of Austria-Hungary."

Marasco spit out his beer. "What, ALEK?" He laughed. "I'd like to see THAT happen with Sharp obviously riding him like a horse!"

"I'm not so sure…I don't even think they've mated." Shaw noted, frowning slightly. Marasco knew that face; she wasn't joking, but actually thinking.

"I doubt it either. They're not even 15, right? And last I checked Sharp's still pretending to be a boy."

"Aye." Shaw took a long drink, putting her boots up on the table. "Could be a bit…AWKWARD to say the least."

Her head shook and she sighed. "Can't blame her of course. I mean, a girl like her isn't going to just stay at home and nit and pop out kids when she can fly and fight, right?"

"And wear dresses. Don't forget that."

Marasco grinned, and Shaw shuddered.

"I HATE dresses."

"Unless you don't wear anything under them…"

"Still hate em, even then. It's YOU who likes that."

"That's not what you said at that party two months ago."

"I was drunk, okay? You honestly expect me to believe that story you told about you fighting flying cats and a pirate on the back of some passenger airship?"

"Oh, that was true…just not to me."

"Really?" She raised her good eyebrow again. "Who actually did it?"

"Captain Cruse. Told me about it when I was helpin' him get his wife stored aboard a week ago." He smiled again. "You remember their wedding, I assume?"

"Course. De Vrise and Cruse; biggest Darwinist hitch in years. They're doing their vows-"

"Her father stands up, smelling like cheap booze-" Marasco supplied, knowing how the story went.

"Screams something about how he's "unworthy for her-"

"You stand up with fire in your eyes-"

"Charge towards him-"

"He turns and looks-"

They both grinned and said, together "And out the window he goes!"

Laughter erupted from the two soldiers, the kind of sick laughter you hear in a mental ward. Then again, hadn't someone said war was madness?

Their gale of hilarity ended and both of them took long drinks.

"Oh man, good times…wish things could be that simple again, honestly." Marasco admitted. Shaw shrugged.

"I kinda like fighting the Clankers, really. Nice change of pace from protecting things that don't really need protecting, you know?"

"Yeah." Marasco nodded, but quietly disagreed. He didn't mention it though. He finished his bottle. "So…you said I owe you?"

A new fire lit in Shaw's eyes, and her lips pulled back feraly. "Yes, I'd say you do."

She stood, tossing aside her own empty bottle and sat down on his lap, eyes locking with his.

"I'd say you owe me, oh, one for every time you got shot?"

Marasco did a quick count of his wounds.

"You sure you got five in you?" He asked. She just grinned and kissed him deeply, hands on his ears to hold his head.

"I managed eight didn't I?

"BARELY. And then you passed out for a day."

"Yeah, well…" She stroked a finger down his chest. Marasco was about to reply when a knock came at the door.

"MATE!" Shaw snarled, getting up and striding to it. She ripped it open and snarled out "the splicing HELL do you want? I was kind of BUSY!"

Moving to the side slightly to see around his lover, Marasco could see the person on the other end of the door was Deryn. Huh. What was she doing here?

Apparently she'd forgotten herself; the girl's face had gone slightly pale and she was looking straight ahead of her.

It took him a moment to realize she was looking at Shaw's cleavage.

Marasco couldn't blame her in the least. Especially since this was Sharp doing the looking. Even as he stood there, he saw her eyes flick to Shaw's chest, then down to here own, then back. A blush crept up her face and she looked away.

Again Marasco couldn't blame her. The way that Shaw was leaning out the door, her tits looked like someone had crammed a pair of cut-down hollow point artillery shells into her tank top. Sharp on the other hand…looked like a boy. "Flat enough to turn off Fever" as Sergeant Harkness would have said.

"I, uh, er…" Sharp stammered. Her eyes flicked back to Shaw's chest.

"What? You want me to ram your head in there or something? I'm damn sure it would fit!" Shaw snarled. The blush vanished from Sharp's face and she backed up.

"No! No no no...I was just looking for Sergeant Marasco."

"I'm here." Marasco stepped forward and around Shaw, who moved eagerly out of the way, muttering something about "better not be another Fever".

"Oh. Right, uh…I just wanted to ask if you were alright. The Lieutenant said that your armor-"

(Armor? What armor? Marasco thought)

"-should have stopped those MG bullets, but I just wanted to be sure."

"Ah." He nodded. "Thanks for the concern, Sharp, but I'm fine. See? Nothing but bruises."

He showed her his bare chest, and the red marks. She nodded, then stopped.

"Touch him and I'll ram you so far into my cleavage they'll find your skeleton." Shaw threatened. Sharp backed away hurriedly.

"She has a boyfriend, Hester." Marasco said. Shaw laughed in response.

"The little Clanker? You kidding? Ten bucks says he can't tell the difference between your Darwinist bits and a hole in the ground."

"Quiet." Marasco snapped. A certain amount of insulting was fine amongst soldiers. But there was a line and Shaw was getting quite close to it. The Corporal shut up and nodded, glaring at Sharp.

"Anything else, Miss Sharp?"

"Just that Lt. MacPherson's moved your mission back another twelve hours. You'll be leaving at 1100 hours tomorrow instead of 2300 today. She would have told you herself, but she's some how ended up with that little fab dolphin of yours."

Marasco's hand dropped to the pocket of his uniform that normally held Click. Sure enough, it was empty. "Damn. I'll get it later. Thanks, Sharp."

Marasco turned away. A moment later there was the sound of hurried fabricated leather clad feet pounding the deck plates.

"Fab mater." Shaw muttered, turning away and sitting back down. "So much for THAT."

Marasco sat down as well, shivering slightly.

"What was that about armor, you think?" He asked. Shaw shrugged.

"Got me. She saw you get shot, right?"

"Yeah, in the hanger."

"Probably MacPherson covering for us then. As always."

"Hear hear." Marasco pumped his fist in honor of their CO. Shaw sighed and put her feet back up on the table.

"Well THAT killed the mood. Even if we do have a full day to relax. Nothing like a random girl looking over your tits to make you loose your fire."

Marasco just grunted. "I don't think she's like Fever though…"

"Heard that? Figure…what makes you say that?"

"Just the way she was looking. If she was a dyke, she'd practically be begging to be smothered by you."

"Not that she'd get it. I've had enough rough treatment from Fever. These girls are YOURS." Shaw shuddered, holding her hands to her chest. "Why are her hands so CLAMMY anyway…you'd think they'd be warmer cause of all those damn showers she takes."

"Same thing that made her eyes change color probably."

"Right…different subject?"

"No problem."

Shaw got up and got them both another beer. Another bonus of being a Darwin; it took a HELL of a lot of alcohol to get drunk. If you wanted to make some extra scratch on the side, just enter a drinking contest.

She swirled her drink around, looking glumly into it.

"What's up?" He asked, sitting forward.

"Rogers. She came snooping around a bit ago, before the conference. I had to go hide."

Marasco nodded worriedly. "You don't think-"

"She remembers." Shaw muttered darkly. "You heard her on the gyro. She knows who I am."

"Oh. Not good…" Marasco noted darkly, quickly dropping the subject. This was another painful one for Shaw, and he wasn't too interested in it himself. "Where was Malone do you know?"

Shaw smiled. "Mess hall. Grabbing some food. His frog nearly got eaten by a tweezer shark."

Marasco smiled as well. "Would serve him right for bringing the mating thing. Is there ANYTHING those sharks WON'T eat?"

"Ain't found it yet myself." Shaw admitted.

More silence, but an easier one. This back and forth, no-holds-barred randomly wandering conversation style was one of the few things Marasco truly cherished in his job.

A dark grin spread across his face. Shaw's fire might have been dampened by the appearance of Sharp, but if anything, that same event had dumped a gallon of gasoline onto Marasco's own. Nothing like realizing that the girl you were mating was a thousand times more attractive than a supposed war hero to get your blood boiling.  
>But if the glitter in Shaw's eyes was anything to go by, her fire was starting to be stoked back up again...time to bring this to an end, he figured.<br>"So...we've got a couple hours..." He said, trailing off. Shaw grinned, her scar pulling apart at the sides.  
>"You thinking what I'm thinking?" She asked, already rising and reaching her hand for the button of her uniform pants.<br>"Obviously." Marasco joined her, reaching for his own pants, but Shaw caught him first, launching herself forward and carrying them both backwards onto the bed, arms and legs and lips tangling until they were more like a single beastie than a pair.

Which, of course, was pretty barking accurate.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: Before I start this chapter, I'd like to give a big thank you to the reviewer who left such an awesome post on the last chapter. Your input is much appreciated...unfortunately since you decided to go anonymous, I have no idea who to sent a message to to discuss some of the things you mentioned. Oh well. **  
><strong>Secondly, this is dedecated to my friend Ancorgurl1, with the hope that I didn't mess up your creation too badly.<strong>

Darwin's Fist

Chapter 8

It had been almost half a day but the shivers refused to go away.  
>Deryn sighed unhappily and crossed her arms over chest, feeling her skin crawl like it was a beastie pasted over her skin, trying to break free of her muscles and guts and bones. That thought sent more shivers down her, which made her even MORE uncomfortable.<br>She badly wished that Alek was here, that she could just lay with him and feel those rough hands of his protectively on her shoulders while she spewed out everything that was eating her up...but Alek was off on some excursion for Dr. Barlow, who had gone quiet and taken to hiding in her own quarters most of these days, leaving Deryn in the quarters that had once belonged to Corporal Crumb that she now technically shared with Alek, alone with her thoughts and her worries. And she had plenty of them.

Life aboard the _Dreadnought_, Deryn had discovered in the few days she'd been aboard, was certainly nothing like she'd expected.

Her time aboard the _Leviathan_ as a middie had been chaotic and enjoyable, a whirlwind of learning and experiencing and simply being able to FLY.

Days aboard the superairship couldn't have been more different. While she was still technically an officer (she'd even received a barking promotion, even if it was technically honorary, to 2nd, or Sub, Lieutenant, placing the Sergeants of the Darwin's Fist Squads but under Lieutenant MacPherson) she found that the very operations aboard the _Dreadnought_ differed immensely from the _Leviathan._

To begin with, the for a supposedly Darwinist airship, the _Dreadnought_ operated more like a Clanker zeppelin than an airbeast. It had something to do with the sheer size of her, she figured. After all, the _Leviathan _was a couple hundred feet long, and had a relatively small crew. The _Dreadnought _was easily twice that, with a bigger crew, and to boot, she wasn't areostatic. Weight wasn't a problem with her. She even had barking showers!  
>There were no bats or hawks to feed, no gut to tend to, no message lizards to deliver orders. Rather, the ship's main weapons were in the form of the massive web of turrets that bristled from her skin like pimples on a fat country lad's face, the lifting gas (it was NOT hydrogen, Deryn could smell that herself every time she passed one of the gas cells, and had seen enough people light pipes and cigars and cigarettes to know that it wasn't flammable) came from some room that Deryn wasn't cleared to enter that had the words "Prometheus Dynamo" stenciled on them and was guarded by two grim-faced Marines with incendiary round loaded pump-action shotguns, and all communications were handled by the strange little memory dolphins everyone seemed to have.<p>

The majority of the other duties she had enjoyed doing as a middie were covered by entire crews of men. It wasn't just two or three boys rushing wherever they were needed; when something came up, a dozen well-trained personnel were ready to deal with it, often times with plenty of hands to spare.

And worst of all; NO TOP SIDE DUTY.

The _Dreadnought_ didn't have ratlines like the Leviathan did. Nor did she have the caves that held bats, or external mountings for air guns. She couldn't; according to Lieutenant MacPherson (who had given Deryn the grand tour) having such external points would defeat the point of the ships cloak.  
>For that same reason, there weren't any duty assignments that involved going out onto the ship's dorsal section, other than turret repair duty (which was a punishment) or combat watch, the latter of which was apparently only assigned to specific soldiers.<p>

And THAT was the biggest difference; the _Leviathan_ had carried maybe a squads worth of Royal Marines. The _Dreadnought_ carried practically a whole barking army, with the vehicles and beasties to back them up.  
>That was practically what it was, actually, once again according to the good el-tee. The <em>Dreadnought<em> was the most combat-ready ship in the entire United States military, and the units aboard were the best prepared to fight. In effect; the _Dreadnought_ WAS the entire United States military.  
>It was lucky to exist at all according to the Lieutenant. The airship had started its life as a civilian project, the crazed dream of some mad aviator, like a Mr. Hearst of the air. A flying version of the <em>Titanic<em>, effectively. An airship to carry passengers across the Atlantic in supreme comfort...and avoid the fate the Titanic had.  
>Then of course the nations of Europe had started to rattle their sabers, and in a fit of "patriotic pride" (which Deryn took to mean "daftness") he'd donated the partially completed machine to the U.S. government. It was passed along to Dr. Halsey's group of scientists and private investors (the actual military hierarchy not being interested in arming up, in line with America's isolationist policies of the time), where it was finally finished and converted into the vessel it was today, and staffed with crew and soldiers who didn't share the thoughts neutrality that the majority of their country did. Its original intent had been to be an exhibition vehicle, an example piece to show to other possible investors and a warning to the Clanker nations, but it had been pressed into combat.<p>

The thoughts of soldiers brought an image up from the dark part of Deryn's attic; the fight in the hanger. The rattle of a Spandau, and the spurts of blood as Sergeant Marasco was gunned down. His body falling, blood spreading...and then him rising, dripping that same liquid, and killing a German practically in cold blood.  
>Her guts roiled, and for a long moment she thought she was going to spew. A swallow forced the bile down.<p>

It wasn't the death that turned her insides. She'd gotten...not USED to it when she was aboard the _Leviathan_, but she'd learned to block it out.

The thing that disturbed her was Marasco's apparent resurrection. NOTHING could have survived that many bullets slicing it up. Nothing HUMAN at any rate.

MacPherson had told her it had been combat armor. Advanced fabricated defense plates made from crustacean life threads, covered in a living material called "creep" that added penetration protection. The "blood" she'd seen was creep seepage, the material spewing out quick-drying ooze to cover up the injured sections in itself like skin scabbing over. She'd shown Deryn a plate of the material, let her feel how the surface was squishy and watch the red liquid drip from it.

Everything about the situation said that Deryn was wrong...and that's why she was absolutely barking sure she WASN'T.

She'd seen Marasco take a dozen machine gun shots, die...and come back to life.

All of which screamed WRONG to her.  
>Deryn rolled over with a groan, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering again.<p>

Her melancholy and feelings of discomfort were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Lieutenant Sharp?" It was a female voice on the other side, cold and calm...the girl who's quarters these had been before. Crumb? Maybe...

"A-Aye?" Deryn called, rolling onto her feet and wincing as her bare feet hit the cold floor of her quarters. Clart, where had her boots gone...there they were.

"Lieutenant MacPherson said you might be interested in seeing the crow's nest," Crumb said through the door. Deryn, stumbling into her first boot, looked up.

"Crow's nest?" She asked, shimmying into the fabricated leather and lacing them up tightly.

"Yes. I'm headed up to replace Private Squires. The el-tee thought you might care to join.

Her offer took a moment to work its way into Deryn's attic, past the walls of worry and confusion and mating frustration that had begun to grow within it.

Crow's nest...top side...SKY.

"Aye!" She said, her worry sliding away like shed skin off a message lizard. "I'd barking love to!"

"As I suspected. Suit up then, ma'am. I'll meet you outside."  
>Deryn didn't even hear the last part, too busy tying up her other boot and slipping into her uniform. She took a moment to review herself in the mirror.<p>

She desperatly wished she had her middie uniform back. At least it was the right size...the tailor (the _Dreadnought_ had its own barking tailor!) had insisted it was the smallest size they carried, but even so it was obviously not intended to be worn by someone of her size.

For a fleeting moment, Deryn wished her diddies were larger, so at least they'd fill out the front of the uniform.

Not the size of Shaw's though...she shuddered again, the image of the scarred Corporal's snarling face layering itself over her reflection in the mirror.

Well, she could have it be shrunk down if necessary. And at least, she told her self for the innumerate time, she didn't have to hide that she was a girl. Everyone knew already, and if anything they were DAMN happy she was one.

With a sigh, she turned away and went to the door, opening it slightly and finding Corporal Crumb talking to her memory dolphin.

The sight of the fab made Deryn close her door and hurry inside, reaching under her pillow.

Along with the uniform, she'd been issued one of the dolphins which, in a bit of dark humor, Deryn had named Fitzroy. MacPherson had told her to keep it at her side at all times, so Deryn had started doing just that.

Cramming the fab into the pocket designed specifically for it, Deryn opened the door again, further this time.

Crumb looked up from her dolphin and nodded, dual-colored eyes staring as if they didn't need to blink.

Deryn shivered again. Clart, was her skin actually going to twitch itself off her?

"So...Crow's nest?" She asked to cover her moment of discomfort.

"Yes. If you're still interested.  
>Crumb put her dolphin away (cramming it between her diddies, of all places) and started off without preamble, forcing Deryn to jog to catch up.<p>

Clart, all these Darwin's Fist soldier walked so barking fast!

"So...MacPherson tells me you've been having a bit of trouble settling in."

The question startled her, and her voice cracked. Clart!

"Aye. Its nothing, though."

Crumb nodded and made a noise that wasn't very convinced sounding.

"Its quite common, this feeling. Especially amongst Air Service personnel such as yourself. Bit of a shock, coming from an airbeast to the _Dreadnought_."

She slowed and stopped, then gave Deryn what was probably supposed to be a kind smile, but her lips didn't move quite right and it looked more like a cat's mouth before it gobbled up some poor field mouse.

"I'll say." She replied, looking away.

"You'll get used to it. Everyone else did, and assuredly you're more adaptive than a male in the same situation."

She said it calmly, as if stating a fact. Which, now that Deryn thought about it, she probably WAS.

"Lucky me." Deryn replied with a slight frown. "The crow's nest?"

"This way." Crumb started off again, stuffing her hands into her pockets. Now that there wasn't a door between them, Deryn could see she wasn't in a uniform; rather, over her off-duty clothes, the Corporal had donned a white rubber jacket, like the kind a chemist might wear, that squeaked slightly as she walked. Strange...then again, from what Deryn had seen, Darwin's Fist wasn't your average military unit.

Once again her mind went back to the hanger, and Marasco falling...and getting back up again.

She shook her head.

"Rookie. Can't take blood." Fitzroy said. Deryn jumped, not quite used to the dolphin randomly blurting things out. She should have been, considering that Bovril did the same thing, but with the dolphins it wasn't so much...perspicaciousness as practically mind reading.

"She'll learn." Crumb's dolphin joined in, in a voice that Deryn recognized as Sergeant Nile's. Crumb tapped the dolphin with a finger and said "Shh, Arlo."

Silence fell as they walked, except for the impacts of their boots against the light-weight metal floor plates, the rustle and squeaking of Crumb's coat, and the ever-present hissing noise of the airship cutting through the air.

Crumb came to a stop before a ladder that reached down from a large hatch, which was currently open. She gestured for Deryn to climb first.

With hesitation, she put her boots to the rungs and began to climb. It turned out not to be that far a climb as it seemed. Only about five feet, give or take a few inches.

She heaved herself up...and her jaw dropped open.

For a fleeing second, she thought she was on the _Dreadnought_'s spine. She could see EVERYTHING; the clouds, the darkening sky as the sun sank towards the corner of the horizon, the line constantly shifting pattern on the ship's skin that made her practically invisible...

No. She wasn't on the spine. The air was warm and she couldn't feel the wind on her skin. She was inside a bubble on the dorsal side of the ship. A very impressive bubble, to be sure. One made of incredibly clear glass.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Crumb asked as she climbed the ladder to join Deryn.

"Aye...its...barking incredible."

Crumb chuckled. "Yes...it really is. I like to come up here sometimes, when I can't stand the rest of the unit and just watch the sky."  
>She put a hand to the glass, making it fog from her body head. "So irrational, the Fist is sometimes...not like the sky."<p>

"Irrational?" Deryn knew what the word meant but she'd never heard it be used to describe PEOPLE. "But aren't you part of it?"

"Yes. And unfortunately I am as irrational at times as they are. For example, for some peculiar reason I find myself sexually attracted to both genders. Most distressing honestly."

Once again she said it calmly, like it was no big deal. But the words made Deryn's insides coil around and in on themselves like snakes again.

"What the barking spiders is the POINT of the Fist, anyway?" She found herself asking. "I mean, Marasco keeps saying "Crushers of Clankers-""

""Defenders of Darwinism." Yes. Sergeant Marasco is...a patriot, you could say. He believes that the purpous of the Fist is to grab hold of the heart of Clanker ideology and squeeze it till it bursts."

"And is it?" The words came out sounding dry. If Crumb noticed she didn't comment.

"No. We are not exterminators. Merely we are...mixture of different training and objectives. A fabrication, if you will."

"But, isn't America supposed to be barking neutral? Or WAS?"

"Yes, we were. But the Fist wasn't originally a military project. Same as the _Dreadnought_. MacPherson has informed you of the ships origins, correct."

"Aye."

"The fist was the same way. A private idea, funded partially by the military but mostly supported by private companies and the like. Which is why Dr. Halsey is our commander. But then, of course we received the reports sent by the _Leviathan_ from Mexico, combined with an intercepted telegram from the Germans to the Mexicans, and someone high up in the hierarchy decided that it would be a viable idea to send us to investigate. We did, and...actually, has anyone told you exactly what happened in Mexico?"

Deryn shook her head. She hadn't...at least, not what happened to the Fist.

She knew what happened to HER there. Her knee tingled as she thought, making her shift and clench her hands. But she was curious to understand what Marasco had said about "dealing with Pancho Villia" so she didn't say anything.

"Hmm." Crumb smiled slightly to herself and scratched at her chin.

"Simply put; what was supposed to be a simple recon mission became a full on battle. First, Second, and Third Squads were sent from Seattle down to the last known location of Pancho Villia's forces, with orders to negotiate for information. We believe that the revolutionaries would give us a similar reception to the _Leviathan_. We were wrong. They opened up on us with ground fire and manta airships and Clanker fighters."

"Aye, Marasco mentioned that...something about him jumping out on a Huxley with a machine gun too."

"Yes, that was his reaction. He and First Squad took the fight to the enemy. That IS there job, after all. The three squads of the Fist have certain tasks that they are better at. First handles beachhead operations, extractions and high-risk detail. Second is combat support, and Third is unit security."

Deryn nodded, moving her hand subtly. Yes, the break up of the Fist was barking interesting and all, but she felt that she was getting close to something useful in the story Crumb had been telling. Something she could use to help unravel the strangeness regarding Marasco.

Crumb noticed, and continued.

"Marasco lead First Squad down, and Second Squad went down after they cleared the landing area. From there, they moved out to the main encampment. Villa's group had moved in the time since you'd been there, and had re-set up their possition in a series of caves dug into a cliff. They weren't friendly either. They were armed, and they had German walkers too. Real combat ones, Stahl-Mann and Centaurs. That's how Corporal Shaw got that scar of hers. The irrational girl attacked a Stahl-Mann all by herself with some Combustible Lemons. Took out the walker...but the blast nearly fried her and slashed open her face."

She paused to catch her breath and sigh, shaking her head.

"It got messier after that...Marasco got vengeful and lead the charge into the caves. Cleared them out with First Squad and found Villa. Sergeant Niles had to forcefully stop him from shooting him then and there. Marasco blamed him for hurting Shaw, you see. Still does today, I would assume."

Something niggled at the back of Deryn's mind. Some random idea, growing suddenly in this new light.

"Is that how MacPherson knew I was a lass? The only people who knew were Alek, Count Volger, Dr. Barlow, Villa and his doctor..."

"Yes. That is one of the few things we learned from Villa. Along with the fact that the Germans had contacted him with a proposition; invade the United States from the south, and receive more combat materials."

"Barking spiders." Deryn shivered. Barking sneaky-beak Clankers...

"Yes. Marasco did not take kindly to that...once it was clear that Villa wasn't going to talk anymore, he finished him off himself with his bayonet. Pinned him to the wall."

She sighed and shook her head. "Irrational man...letting his emotions get the better of him."

"Most irrational." Deryn tried out the phrase herself, and found she rather liked it. She stored it in the part of her mind that held "dummkopf".

Crumb gave her a tiny smile and nodded.

"Irrational...but effective. He isn't Sergeant Major for his looks or his devotion to Darwinism...though the latter certainly helped, I would think."

"So I've noticed..." Deryn noted darkly. "I'm hazard a guess at "fanaticism." Its like he's got a personal vendetta against the very idea of Clankers."

"Not too inaccurate." Crumb agreed. "Thankfully, he is the minority...the rest of the Fist is much more accepting. Myself, for example. As much as I approve of Darwinism, I find it..."

"Most irrational?"

"Precisely." Crumb gave the cat-smile again and folded her arms.

"Huh." Deryn copied the motion, putting her forehead against the glass of the dome and looking out into the rapidly darkening sky. "Well, I'm barking glad for that. If the rest of the Fist was like Marasco, I don't think I'd be able to handle it."

She shook her head again and groaned slightly, wishing that the world would go back to the way it used to be, before Alek learned her secret. Being a middie, doing the orders of the captain and helping maintain the ship. None of this sneaky-beak plotting and secrecy.

Crumb was silent for a long time, tapping her chin.

"He doesn't have anything against YOU personally, you know...nor your mate, I would assume either."

"Mate?" Deryn felt her cheeks flush at the use of the word.

"Yes, the former prince. Aleksander. He IS your mate I assume, yes? Or are you not-"

"Oh, no, he's my..."

Her WHAT? She wasn't really sure...what did you call a "daft boy that I can snog when I feel down"?

"Well, I guess you could call him that..." She finished quietly. Crumb laughed, a bird-like cackle.

"Amusing. As I was saying, Marasco does not HATE you, nor Alek. He merely has a dim view of anything that is not "truly Darwinist". That technically meaning anyone actively fighting the Clankers and dealing heavy blows to them. Which, unsurprisingly, does not include former midshipman aboard a British airbeast. Should you do something to change that view, so too would his attitude towards you change. I have witnessed it happen before."

"Change it?" Deryn asked, frowning slightly. "How the barking spiders would I do that?"

"Simple; put the hurt on the Clankers in some way."

The seeds of a plan began to take root in her attic. Her curiosity over the events of the hanger fed them, and slowly they grew, stitching together into a course of action.

If she wanted to know more about what she had seen, beyond what MacPherson had told her...she would need to hear it from Marasco himself. And to do THAT...she'd have to prove to him that she was worth his time to talk to.

Clart, she'd been spending too much time with Dr. Barlow and Count Volger...their tendency to plot had rubbed off on her.

"Such as helping secure the royal family of Russia from under the nose of the Bolshiveks?"

The cat-smile split Crumb's lips again for a moment, and for its duration Deryn had the horrid feeling that the Corporal had steered her into making just that decision.

No, that was just her attic playing with her. The smile vanished and her worry vanished with it.

She had a plan now. And she was barking well going to make it happen.

It might be dangerous, yes...but at least she'd be able to get out and DO something again.

The primary hanger of the _Dreadnought _had not calmed down in the least since Deryn had last been in it. While there were no gyropthopers or air beasties coming and going now, it was still a madhouse, with ground crews crawling all over the still vehicles and beasties, maintaining and caring for them and preparing the designated craft for the two upcoming missions assigned to First and Second Squads.

Deryn took a deep breath and tightened her back, trying to make herself appear imposing and composed at the same time. Something hard to do with a too-big uniform, especially because Fitzroy's admittedly small weight kept causing the right side to nearly slip off her shoulder. With a shrug she put it back into place and strode towards the corner of the hanger, heart fluttering in her chest like a bird.

Away from the mad hustle and clamor of the ground crew, Sergeant Marasco stood talking with several other Darwin's Fist soldiers, obviously discussing the upcoming missions. Deryn recognized Warrant Officer Cluney and Corporal Shaw. In addition to them, there was another ginger-haired girl in the flight uniform of a Cattlecar pilot bearing the name tag "Tripp", and a tattooed female soldier in a sleeveless cotton shirt and a metal helmet with something stenciled on it. As Deryn closed on the group, the girl turned to light up a cigarrete (an action that made Deryn twitch and nearly throw herself forward for it) she could see that the stencil was of the words "Tank Girl", which made very little sense to Deryn.

Shaw was the firs to notice her, raising her hand in a friendly wave.

"Hey, Sharp." She said. She looked quite different from the last time Deryn had seen her, no longer the snarling scarred girl who'd threatened to smother her with her diddies.

Perhaps it had something to do with the large, red mark on her neck...Deryn knew a hickey when she saw one. Alek had left them on her own neck before.

"Shaw." She said back, neutrally. Shaw grinned in response.

"Sorry 'bout snapping at you earlier. Just wasn't feeling too good."

"Its fine." Deryn waved her hand as if she didn't care. Which, honestly, she didn't. Not MUCH anyway...

"Glad to hear." She stuck out her hand for a shake, and Deryn did so, firmly.

So apparently that was dealt with...

"I was actually hoping I could talk to Sergeant Marasco."

The rest of the group turned the Sergeant, who shifted so he was facing her. Deryn noticed he had a map on a clipboard in his hand, but of what she couldn't see.

"What do you need, Sub?" He asked, using the shortened version of her new rank.

Right, here it went...

"I was wondering if you might have some open space on your upcoming mission."  
>She said it calmly as she could, despite the way her heart started jumping as she did. Marasco didn't seem to notice her nervousness. Instead, he smiled slightly, cocking his head to the side.<p>

"Depends on why you want to go. This isn't going to be a happy little jaunt, and you aren't a soldier."

"I'm getting tired of sitting around here. I want to get back into the action. Get something barking DONE."

Well, it wasn't really a lie if she was honest to herself...she DID want to hurt the Germans, to make them pay for what they'd done to her home. But Marasco didn't need to know that.

Nor did it seem that he cared. The Sergeant's grin grew wider.

"Might be better if you went with Sergeant Harkness, ma'am. He's going to go rescue the Committee for Union and Progress from Istanbul. You've got a friend there, don't you? Lilit, the ambassador's aid...from the party."

"Aye. But I want a REAL mission." She put some force behind her words, hoping that he'd believe her.

He did. Or seemed too.

"Smart girl." He grinned and patted her shoulder. "I think you'll be just fine...but you're going to need some proper gear if your going to fight with First Squad."

He turned to Shaw.

"Take Sharp to the armory. Get her kitted out."

"Aye, sir!" Shaw said, smiling. She saluted, breaking away from the group and motioning for Deryn to follow her.

With trepidation, Deryn followed her out into the hallway out of the hanger.  
>"Armory's this way." Shaw said, taking a right and heading deeper into the airship. Deryn trotted after her, once again out-paced by the taller Darwin. Her eyes flickered to the mark on Shaw's neck, easily visible from this angle, then away.<p>

Shaw noticed her looking and touched at it, frowning slightly.

"Ah, dammit David..." She muttered. "You always have to leave a mark somewhere VISABLE don't you."

Deryn kept her mouth shut, feeling a blush creeping up her neck. Barking spiders, were Shaw and Marasco-

"I can see you blushing, Sharp." Shaw noted. Deryn jumped slightly at her voice and blushed harder.

"Sorry." She said quickly. She couldn't think of anything else to say. Shaw didn't seem to be concerned.

"No reason to be. Mating is the core of Darwinism, is it not? Why be sorry for an act that is responsible for our very civilization?"

"Aye." Was all Deryn could get out through her suddenly tight throat. She looked away, sure her face was going to burst into flames. Shaw grinned, her scar splitting again.

"You'll understand, when you finally break your mate out of his Clanker mindset. Or have you already? Its hard to tell."

"N-no, I...we..." Deryn's throat closed up again and she had a sudden urge to hurl herself out the nearest window. Shaw simply chuckled.

"Give it time. You'll see what I mean." She said plainly, before taking a left and opening a door.

Deryn followed her inside, looking around.

Without a doubt, this was the armory. Wall racks held dozens, possibly hundreds of weapons, mostly of American manufacture but spotted here and there with other countries of origin. Deryn spotted several Short Magazine Lee-Enfeild bolt actions, and a small number of obviously captured German Mauser rifles, one of which still had a spot of blood on the bayonet. Obviously the weapon Marasco had taken from the hanger...

Arranged on similar racks at the far end of the room stood rows of armor, including the advanced plates that Deryn had been showed by MacPherson earlier that day.

Nearest to them, the armory chief sat behind a desk with requisition forms on it, reading a book. He looked up as Shaw came in, putting down his reading and standing. His uniform, Deryn saw, bore the insignia of an Army Gunnery Sergeant.

"Corporal Shaw." He said. "This is a surprise." There was a tone of sarcasm in his voice, but friendly sarcasm.

"To me as well, Gunnam." Shaw replied, walking over to him. "Orders from Sarge Marasco. He wants Sub Sharp geared up for a seat on his operation."

"He called ahead. Already got the gear out and ready." He held out a sheaf of papers. "You get these signed and in order, and I'll get the Sublieutenant kitted out."

Shaw nodded, turning to Deryn. "You heard him."

She nodded and followed the Gunner Sergeant.

"Right. So, I assume you don't have much training in firearms other than Air Service air guns, yes?" He asked. It took a moment for Deryn to realize he was talking to her, but when she did she replied "Aye. But I've used them plenty of times, and I've used a Spandau before."

"Then we'll skip the safety lesson." The Sergeant reached up and removed a short, stocky weapon from the wall. It was simple; a barrel with a pistol grip and a solid wood butt.

"Thompson submachine gun. .45 caliber pistol round ammunition, 400 rounds per minute fire rate."

He passed the weapon to Deryn, who took it gingerly, keeping her finger away from the trigger and making sure the safety was on, just like she remembered from her limited air rifle training. Gunnam removed a quartet of magazines; drum-shaped, about the size of his hand.

"100 round magazine. More than enough for a firefight."  
>He placed the magazine on the table, then gestured for the submachine gun. Deryn gave it to him, watching carefully.<p>

The Gunnery Sergeant slowly loaded the weapon, letting her see how it was done. When he was finished, he unloaded it and handed it back to her. Deryn guessed he wanted her to do the same, to show him she knew what to do. She did so, sliding the magazine into the receiver and pulling back the charging handle to slide the first round into the chamber.

"Good." Gunnam said, nodding. "The recoil isn't too bad. Not much worse than an air rifle for sure. Don't worry about aiming; if you get into trouble, pull the trigger and spray."

He turned back to the wall and moved down, retrieving a pistol and placing it on the table before him.

"M1911. Same ammunition caliber, 7 round magazine." He repeated the loading and unloading, before handing it to Deryn, followed by a holster.

"This is your sidearm now. Keep it with you at all times. The recoil is potent, so make sure you're bracing yourself for it."

Deryn nodded numbly, feeling the pistol in her hand. Holding it brought back memories of the glacier, of Alek and her on the ice, his own pistol pressing into her flesh...

She put the pistol down for a moment and shivered, feeling strangely light headed.

What was she doing? She wasn't a soldier! She was a barking airman!

NO. She couldn't back out now...she HAD to earn Marasco's trust. She had to do this.

She picked up the pistol and slid it into the holster, attaching it to her uniform at the waist. Strangely, she felt better with the weight at her hip.

She might not like the Americans much, she admitted, but barking spiders did they know how to make a person feel powerful.

Gunnam wasn't finished, apparently. He made one more stop, by the rack with the armor and pulling down a set of plates that were obviously fabricated from crustacean life threads.

"Liskskin combat armor. Impenetrable to anything up to .30 caliber, resistant to everything up to and including .50 caliber."  
>He passed the chest plate to Deryn, letting her feel it. Surprisingly, despite the apparent thickness of it, the plate was light as she lifted it. She could see that the sides had fabricated leather straps, obviously to mount it over a uniform.<p>

She opened her mouth to ask how to put it on when a low whine filled the room.

"Oh MATE..." Shaw muttered, and Gunnam looked up in surprise.

The whine rose, finally morphing into a high-pitched scream. An attack siren of some kind.

"What th-" Deryn started to ask, but was cut off as Shaw grabbed her arm.

"That's the immediate deployment signal! We need to go, NOW!" She said, hauling Deryn out of the armory. She barely had enough time to grab the submachine gun and the chest plate before she was hustled out.

The next half an hour was a blur for Deryn. First she was shoved into the hangar and into Warrant Officer Tripp's Cattlecar with barely enough time to swap out of her officer's uniform into a combat one (a change that necessitated her practically stripping in front of the entirety of First Squad), then roughly strapped into one of the seats in the Cattlecar's back for the brutal, gut-shaking launch from the hangar and the plunge towards the earth before the machine got under way towards St. Petersburg, their mission location.

Once again, she found herself cursing Clanker contraptions. The Cattlecar rattled like a thing possessed, battered by cold winds that is forced its way through. Occasionally, it would hit a bit of rough air and Deryn would smash against the side, loosing her breath. It probably would have been worse if it wasn't for the armor she was wearing.

Around her, First Squad was grim and focused, a dozen hard faces looking around at each other or out the open back of the bay, watching snow fly around.

She noticed Sergeant Marasco looking at her, blue eyes as cold as the snow billowing behind them. Swallowing, she managed to ask "The barking spiders was that about?"

"Not sure." Marasco replied slowly. Obviously, the fact that he didn't know was troubling him. "But my guess is, either we got some news that wasn't good that indicated we needed to leave at that very moment...or something that could possibly have brought the _Dreadnought_ down was coming."

He clenched his hands on his M1903. Aside from Deryn, all of First Squad carried them this time.

"Lets hope its the former then." Deryn said, her breath pluming out to the side in a white cloud. Marasco nodded grimly, glancing out the door again and checking something.

"When we're on the ground, stick with Shaw." He said, pointing at her. He turned to the Corporal in question and said "Sharp is your responsibility. I want her coming back in one piece, understood?"

"Solid copy, sir." Shaw nodded, adjusting her helmet. "You scare me more than the German's do. I'll bring her back without a scratch."

"Good. I'd hate to have to give Alek back damaged goods." He grinned darkly, and Shaw returned it, her scar stretching again.

Deryn sighed and closed her eyes, anxiety clawing at her guts.

This had been a stupid idea. Who was she kidding? She was going to get shot, and maybe die, and all her friends and family would come to her funeral and laugh at the poor daft lassie who thought she could be a soldier-

Pain lanced up the side of her face, the force of the sudden blow making her head turn. Deryn's head rang, and it took her a long second to realize that Shaw had slapped her.

"Focus, Sharp!" She snapped. "Don't panic!"

"Aye, aye..." Deryn rubbed the side of her face. The blow stung like someone had burned her cheek, but the pain cleared her worry.

She COULD do this. She WOULD. And she would earn Marasco's trust and she'd learn his secret, and tell Dr. Barlow, and everything would be barking great.

There was a change in the pitch of the rotors, and a feeling of sinking. The Cattlecar was dropping, readying to deposit First Squad into the streets of St. Petersburg.

"On your feet!" Marasco barked. "I want books on the ground in thirty!"

He stood, slinging his rifle over his shoulder, then went to the rear of the compartment and looked out.

"Tripp! You overshot!" He shouted towards the cockpit. "This isn't the palace!"

"I know it isn't!" Tripp called back. "Orders are to dump you here instead!"

"The hell? Who authorised that?"

"Halsey herself! Don't ask me why, I'm just the pilot!"

"Alright! Then set us down so we can do our job." He glared out into the snow, adjusting his helmet and makign sure it was secure.

"Forty-five to dirt!" Tripp called, dropping the Cattlecar lower. "Thirty...twenty five...touchdown!"

"GO GO GO!" Marasco shouted, sprinting out and leaping from the back of the gyro. First Squad surged after him, shouting war cries, and Deryn found herself sucked along with them.

Her dismount was...less than graceful. She slipped on a patch of ice that had formed on the ramp leading from the bay, and she ended up falling face first into a snow drift. Her submachine gun went flying, clattering to the cold stone of the street they had landed in.

Painfully cold white filled her vision, and for a second she panicked again, lungs failing to work. She thrashed and tried to scream, but nothing came out.

Something grabbed her by the back of her uniform and lifted her clear, leaving her spluttering and red-faced. A rough shake and she was on her own feet, Shaw looking her over.

"You're alright, you're alright. Come on!" She shouted, practically pulling her along.

Deryn stumbled, kicking her Thompson by accident and scrmabling to grab it. Her fingers clenched around the grip and drew it up to her chest, whole body shaking.

"Aye..." She gasped, looking around. Her head spun slightly, adrenaline mixing with fear and confusion.

"Where are we? Where the barking spiders are we?"

"Not a clue! Where'd Marasco go?" Shaw replied.

As if in answer, there was a loud _pop,_and a column of red smoke rose towards the sky.

"Wait, there's his smoke!"

"First Squad, regroup on me!" Marasco was shouting. Deryn stumbled forward, Shaw practically pulling her along towards the smoke.

They rounded a corner, and found themselves in the midsts of a sudden firefight. The sharp _crack _of bolt action rifles shattered the cold air. Bullets skipped off flagstones, blew chunks off buildings, and landed, sizzling, in snowbanks. Before Deryn could get a good look at the situation, Shaw hurled her behind a collapsed statue of the Tsar and slid into position next to her, rifle out and ready.

Deryn's lungs heaved, and she saw stars. Oh CLART she wasn't ready for this...she'd thought she was fit, but this was more than she'd ever done.

"Barking...spiders...can't breath..." She gasped, holding her burning chest with one hand and coughing. It hurt to breath.

"Wasn't supposed to be like this..." Shaw muttered. "This was supposed to be an easy in and out..." She growled. "Sorry for getting you into this mess."

"Its...alright." She replied. Despite all this, she felt...ALIVE. That feeling she'd gotten aboard the _Leviathan_ when she was in the rat lines...it was BACK.

And, somehow, sharper. Clearer.

THIS was where she was meant to be.

With a thud and a grunt, Sergeant Marasco slid into cover next to them, breath pluming.

"You both okay?" He asked quickly. Shaw nodded.

"Little shaken, but intact. Sir, the mate is going on?"

"Order change. Apparently the Royal Family's a complete loss. All KIA. MacPherson's diverted us to evac a different high value individual. One of the Romanov's guards."

"Opposition?"

"Bolshevik revolutionaries, out hunting for the last survivors. Militia basically. But they've got Mosin-Nagat rifles."

"Copy." Shaw glanced up over the top of the statue, rifle resting on the edge. "Looks like we're mostly clear...those shots weren't aimed at us."

"You see where they were going?"

"Yeah, that a way...they're taking potshots at that building over there."

She pointed. Marasco rose slightly, and Deryn rose with him, lungs finally starting to work right again. The indicated building seemed to be a theater, or playhouse of some kind. On the might front doors was carved an opening flower. On its front steps, something metallic glinted occasionally.

"The Bloom Theater." Marasco said, obviously translating the Russian writing below the flower. "That's our target."

He rose further, glancing around, grabbing Click from his pocket and squeezing it.

"Marasco to all First Squad; I'm moving to the package. Provide covering fire."

He dropped the dolphin and held his hand out to Deryn.

"You ready to prove you're a Darwinist?" He asked, lips split in a horrifying grin.

Somehow, Deryn found the strength to say "Aye" and grasp his hand. He pulled her upright, and with Shaw at their back they jogged towards the theater. Occasionally Marasco would turn and fire a shot into one of the buildings around them. Not having anything else to shoot at, Deryn sprayed the general direction he fired in as well. The Thompson spat hot brass out the hatch at the top, making a soft series of metallic _tinkles _as they landed.

As the distance closed, the glinting grew clearer, until finally, about a yard from the steps, Deryn could make out its origin.

The glinting was the light of the sinking sun glinting off the blade of a cavalry sword, which was being wielded by a Russian wearing the uniform of the Romanov family's royal guard against a small group of what Deryn guessed were Bolsheviks. As Deryn watched, a man in a great coat charged with a rifle, and the sword wielder spun to face him. In a single smooth motion, the blade flashed out, slicing the man's right hand free at the wrist. He didn't even have time to scream before the next strike cut through his neck, sending his head tumbling messily away down the street and his body to slump at the base of the steps with the corpses of his allies, soaking the light snow cover there a deep red.

The sword wielder threw back their hood, and Deryn's mouth opened in shock.

The guard was a girl; a thin, strong one, perhaps about Marasco and Shaw's age, with hair that reached down to her back.

She wiped her sword on the snow, cleaning it of the blood that had accumulated on it, then turned.

For an instant, her eyes locked with Deryn's, blue on blue.

She blinked and raised her sword, moving almost faster than Deryn's eye could follow.

"Look out!" Shaw shouted, but the call came to late.

Deryn found herself flying backwards, sliding along the snowy street with her lungs empty of air. She spun and slowed, leaving her dazed and looking up into the sky.

Blisters, what had hit her?

With a groan, she rose slightly, only to stop as she noticed the point of the sword resting against her throat.

"Mudak." The girl spat. Deryn didn't know any Russian, but she guessed that it wasn't a term of endearment.

There was a _click_ and pistol appeared behind the girl's right ear. Sergeant Marasco, looking at her grimly.

The Sergeant said something in Russian that Deryn didn't catch. The guard drew her sword away from Deryn's throat and spun it to face Marasco, placing it directly between her eyes.

"Tell me who you are...or I will cut you down where you stand." She hissed in heavily accented English.

"Sergeant David Marasco. United States Army." Marasco said slowly. His pistol was still pointed at her, its slide pressing against the blade of the sword.

"Americans? What are you doing here?" It wasn't a friendly question.

"We came to retrieve the Tsar and his family."

The guard laughed, a dark barking noise.

"You are too late. The peasants killed them all."

"We know." Shaw spoke this time. The girl shifted, a look of surprise on her face.

"You are not a man." She said simply. Shaw shook her head, looking around before pulling her helmet off to show her coppery hair.

"No. I'm not. Corporal Hester Shaw. And the soldier you kicked over is Sublieutenant Deryn Sharp."

"That is not an American name." The guard said, frowning.

"No. She's part of the Royal Zoological Society. Formerly of the airbeast HMS _Leviathan_."

"She? You lie! The English do not allow females in their military!"

"She's female. Same as you and me."

The guard glared, then flicked her sword up. A sudden burst of cold hit Deryn's chest, and she screamed, thinking for a moment that the girl had cut her open from crotch to collarbone.

But the blade had missed her skin, merely cutting open her cracked armor plate and the uniform underneath.

Cold air hit Deryn's bare skin and she cried out again as she realized the uniform had fallen to the sides and her diddies were on display. She closed her uniform hurridly, shivering violently.

"You speak true..." She said slowly, turning to Marasco. Her sword stayed lowered, and her face lost some of its intensity. "But if you knew that the Tsar and his family were dead, why have you come?"

"Our orders were to retrieve ANYONE from the palace. Considering that you're wearing the uniform of the Romanov's guards...I'd say you count."

The guard turned away, seething her sword. "Perhaps...but why should I go with you?"

"Why?" Marasco honestly sounded dumbstruck, and his face showed it.

"Yes. Why? What will I gain from leaving this place?"

"You'll live, for one." Shaw said, crossing her arms and shivering. The wind had kicked up, blowing loose snow and slowly freezing blood across the stones of the street.

"Does it seem as if I am one who wishes to survive?" The guard asked. "I have failed those who was ordered to protect. I have failed the Motherland herself."  
>She sighed darkly, looking up into the snow. "Death is too nice and end for someone such as myself."<p>

"What about revenge?" Marasco suggested quietly. The guard turned, eyes lowering.

"Revenge." She said, as if she didn't understand what the word meant. Which, Deryn figured, she might not.

"Revenge. You know who did this. Who helped spark the Bolsheviks into action."

"The Germans. The Kaiser and his lapdogs." The girl snarled. Her hand gripped the hilt of her sword.

Marasco grinned broadly again.

"Exactly. And we're going to make them hurt for it."

"How? You are American soldiers, yes? America was not ready for this war. They have only just begun to prepare for it."

Marasco chuckled. "We aren't part of that. We're more than ready, have been since the Kaiser made his first moves."

He stood straight and proud, eyes hard. "We're the First American Fabricated Combat Platoon. We are Darwin's Fist."  
>He raised his hand and made a clenching motion with it.<p>

"And we're going to wrap our fingers around the sick black heart of the Clanker empire and crush it."

The girl's face changed instantly. She went from melancholy to glee in a second, her whole face shifting upwards.

"If that is the case...then I shall escape with you."  
>She drew her sword again and flourished with it, ending with it held to her shoulder.<p>

"I am Guardswoman Anyanka Bloom; and it would be my great honor to fight alongside you."

Marasco grinned even further.

"Then lets get to it."


	10. Chapter 9

Darwin's Fist

Chapter 9

"So, you have a plan to get us out of this mess, _da_?"  
>Deryn glanced up from the icy ground at, Anyanka (or, apparently "just Anya, please", as she had moments ago informed Sergeant Marasco) as the guardswoman spoke. For a fleeting second, she thought that the question was directed at her.<br>Then Marasco answered, and the spark of hope guttered out and died like a Herculean induction had hit it.

Of course not...why ask the poor, shivering middie when there was the confident Sergeant standing next to her?  
>Deryn snuggled down further under the coat Anya had ripped from one of the dead men for her. She'd shed her chest armor armor, now useless thanks to the swordswoman's blade, and the suit that was originally underneath it, which was in the same condition. The coat smelled like spilled booze and blood, but it was dry and warm, and big enough that Deryn could curl up inside it and feel sorry for herself and not be in anyone's way.<br>"We have a gyropthoper that brought us in. Soon as we can find a place thats big enough for it to set down, we can get on it and leave." Marasco said, checking his rifle. He grunted, yanking the bolt on it and sending a shower of ice crystals cascading from the metal. The temperature was so low that the moisture from his hands had frozen on the metal of the mechanism.  
>No wonder the Russians had gone Darwinists...a walker would have frozen solid in minutes out here!<br>"How much space do you need?" Anya asked, cleaning her sword again. It seemed more of a habitual movement than actually necessary.  
>"Ten meters square or so...though the more the better. The blades on a Cattlecar can suck up anything around them..."<br>Anya nodded, then glanced at the roof of the building they were standing in front of.  
>"And so, my father's folly proves useful for once." She muttered. "This theater has a roof twenty meters square. More than enough room I would say..."<br>"Is it stable?" Shaw asked, glancing worridly at the ice that was cascading down the sides of the buildings roof and had built up on the steps.  
>"<em>Da<em>. It was built to withstand the worst weather the Motherland could throw at her and more. Obscenely expensive..."  
>"We'll take it." Marasco said difinitvily, reaching down to help Deryn to her feet. She accepted, grudgingly. She didn't have the urge to stand herself.<br>"We don't have much time...I think Sharp's going into shock." Shaw noted. Marasco glanced back down, looking into Deryn's eyes.  
>For a long moment, she found she couldn't look away. So BLUE...it was like looking into a barking mirror.<br>She finally managed to break contact, looking at her feet and shivering even worse.  
>"First stage." He noted grimly. "The cold's not helping...the sooner we get out of here, the better."<br>"We can go inside to get out of the wind." Anya suggested. "The walls of the theater are insulated. They should keep us relatively warm."  
>"Good enough."<br>Marasco glanced around, raising his rifle.  
>"Bloom, can you get the doors open?"<br>"_Da_."  
>"Do it then. Shaw, follow her in and bring Sharp. I'll watch your six."<br>The two girls nodded, Shaw going to the side and waiting as Anya pulled a key from inside her shirt ("only way to keep it from freezing" she said to Deryn, smiling in a way she found far too cheeky). With a dull "clunk" the doors opened, swinging inside with a burst of ice.  
>Deryn stumbled inside, pulled along by Shaw. Moments later, Marasco followed them in, rifle raised. He heaved the doors shut and locked them.<br>"Okay, we're clear."  
>He let out a breath, looking.<br>"Can't see my breath...I'll take that."  
>Deryn paused, looking around.<br>The entry to the theater was as fancy as the outside. Lots of flower motifs on the walls, thick carpeted rugs, and fancy chandeliers on the ceiling. A large mirror took up one wall, the opposite one covered by a large painting of Russians on fighting bears charging down a walker.  
>"Wouldn't mind hanging THAT on my wall." Shaw noted, walking up to the picture.<br>"You going to carry it to the Cattlecar?" Marasco noted, gazing at it as well.  
>This got a snort from Anya, who headed deeper into the building, sliding her sword into the sheath on her back. Strange that it would be there and not at her side...well, she was Russian after all. Perhaps they had different sword rule than the Clankers did...<br>Deryn found herself wondering who would win if Anya and Alek were going to fight. She couldn't decide, the question making her stop and frown.  
>"Hey, Sharp, keep moving." Shaw said quietly, giving her a gentle push between the shoulders. Deryn stumbled, shivering slightly.<br>"A-aye." She muttered, voice coming out quiet and girly. Marasco glanced at her, then kept walking.  
>"She sounds cold." Anya said. "Perhaps she would like me to warm her up the Darwinist way, no?"<br>She grinned back at Deryn, who glared.  
>Stupid barking royal prat...<br>"Just get the door open." Marasco said, indicating the next set of doors, presumably the ones that lead to the theater itself. Anya nodded, pulling out her key again. She paused before she put it into the lock.  
>"Do you hear that?" She asked quietly.<br>Marasco and Shaw were on alert instantly, looking around, weapons raised.  
>"Heard SOMETHING...sounded like skittering." Shaw said.<br>"Ice falling probably...some of the stuff on the roof got pinged during the fight." Marasco said, though he didn't sounded entirely convinced of this.  
>The doors opened and Deryn found herself pulled along by Marasco this time, feet shuffling.<br>The actual theater was similar not particularly impressive; rows of seats, thick curtains on the stage, and slightly worn carpeting.  
>Anya sighed, walking towards the stage.<br>"I spent many a day here when I was a girl...my father attempting to instill some "proper womanhood" into me through culture..."  
>She laughed. "I do not even remember most of the plays I saw...nor the plots. Just the fights..."<br>With an acrobatic leap, she mounted the stage, drawing her sword and beginning a rather complicated routine of parries and thrusts.  
>"Alek could do better." Deryn muttered, frowning again. Anya apparently heard her, and paused in her movements.<br>"Alek?" She asked, glancing over. "I have heard that name before..."  
>"Its short for Aleksander." Shaw said, before Deryn could tell her not to.<br>Anya's eyes raised.  
>"As in Aleksander of Hohenburg? Son of the Duke of Austria-Hungary?"<br>"FORMER." Marasco corrected. "He got smart and rescinded all of his rights to that title. Works for the Zoological Society of London now."  
>"<em>Da<em>, I heard that...did not believe it was true."  
>The Russian girl sat down, crossing her legs. "How...interesting. I have not seen Aleksander since his family met with the tsar several years back...I believe that they wished him to become Anastasia's mate."<br>She chuckled, as if this was a mildly funny joke.  
>"Yeah, well good luck with that..." Shaw said with a slight grin. "Deryn's claimed him already."<br>Anya's eyes shot up.  
>"Oh? Well then...it would seem I have even more reason to join you."<br>She leapt from the stage with an acrobatic flip (barking showoff!) and landed in front of Deryn.  
>"Make sure he knows you are the dominate one, <em>da<em>?" She said, tilting Deryn's head up slightly with her finger.  
>Deryn shook her head free, glaring.<br>"Snarf clart." She said, feeling anger start to boil in her chest. First this girl had to nearly gut her, and NOW she was giving her relation advice? She was doing barking fine with Alek, thank you very much!  
>Anya simply laughed and turned away, moving to lay across several of the seats.<br>"We have some time before your "Cattlecar" arrives, am I correct?"  
>"The Sarge hasn't even called it. We've got plenty." Shaw said, joining her by sitting on the row down. Marasco reached for his memory dolphin even as Shaw was saying it...but stopped again.<br>"Hold." He said, hand reaching for his side arm. "Movement."  
>Deryn looked up, then around. Nothing moved, except for Shaw and Anya, each girl reaching for their weapon. Marasco pulled his sidearm loose, hand squeezing its grip tightly.<br>Clart, where had her submachine gun gone...lost in the snow, probably. Clart. Clart. Clart.  
>Marasco moved forwards, handgun out, breath pluming-<br>Wait, that wasn't right. They shouldn't be able to see their breath...  
>"Someone left a door open." Shaw noted, seeing the plume as well. She rose, M1911 out and raised. Marasco gestured something at her, and she nodded, each Darwin going in the opposite direction. Anya, lacking orders, moved to Deryn's side, blade out.<br>"Do not worry...I will protect you." She said, smiling. Deryn had a sudden urge to spit in her face, but figured the sound of her doing so would be abominably loud in the still air.  
>Marasco and Shaw finished their sweep, returning to their starting points.<br>"Nothing." Shaw mouthed. Marasco nodded, frowning.  
>"Fab maybe...left over from when this place got evacuated. Just like in Paris."<br>"_Nyet_." Anya said. Deryn wasn't entirely sure what the Russian meant, but she was starting to guess that "_Da_" meant "aye". So "_Nyet_" must mean "no"...  
>"My father never used fabrications in his theater." Anya explained. "If there is movement, it is human."<br>"Mate." Marasco spat. "Then we have to go find it and make sure its not an enemy before-"  
>A loud "creak" from above made them all look up. Part of the roof above them (an impressive, metal landscape that reminded Deryn of the drink car on the Orient Express) had bent outwards slightly.<br>"What the clart..." Shaw noted. Marasco shook his head, eyes narrowed.  
>Another "creak", from further down, this time over the stage. The Darwin's snapped to it, looking down before hurrying to investigate. Marasco reached the stage first, leaping onto it and scratching the wood with his boots. Shaw waited below, pistol hidden behind the rise of the stage, ready to help.<br>The Sergeant looked around, pistol raised, before shaking his head.  
>Another creak, then a loud "crunch" of splintering wood. Something fell behind onto the stage, splintering a large portion in the middle. One of the roof panels it seemed.<br>Marasco was instantly looking up, pistol raised. Even from where she was, Deryn could see the look of confusion pass over his face.  
>"What the-" He mouthed.<br>"_Are you afraid, Amerikaner_?"  
>The sudden speech shocked Deryn, making her leap, involuntarily, back towards Anya, who gripped her arm to steady her. It didn't sound human...it was mechanical, with a electrical "buzz" mixed in with the words. It sounded like someone speaking through a walker's cooling fan, or a cloud of fabricated bees.<br>"_Nein_." Marasco said back, looking up again. Clanker talk...what the barking spiders?  
>"<em>You should be.<em>"  
>"Oh CLART-" Marasco started to say. Then something huge, black, and very heavy looking leapt from the ceiling and smashed into him, crashing through the stage and dragging the Sergeant with it.<br>"SARGE!" Shaw howled, leaping into the stage and charging the hole, firing her pistol into it.  
>"Let go of him before I peel your skin off your bone you sorry-"<br>Her voice cut off with a scream as whatever had tackled Marasco sent something flying at her, lifting her clean off her feet and smashing her through the first two rows of seats.  
>"Get OFF!"<br>The stage buckled again, and the black shape erupted from it, blasting a whole new hole in the wood as it soared out. A hand followed it; Sergeant Marasco, helmet missing and blond hair now matted with blood, face grim and hand clenching around his combat knife.  
>"SHAW! Get out of here!" He shouted, coughing. Even from where she was, Deryn could see flecks of blood flying out of his mouth.<br>"Negative, sir!" Shaw extracted herself from the seats, and as she did Deryn saw something that made her feel slightly sick.  
>Something (a bracing pole it looked like) had gone completely through Shaw's lower back and out the front. It weeped blood slowly, dripping red onto the the carpet.<br>It wasn't the wound that shocked Deryn; it was how Shaw was ignoring it. She should have been dead, or at the very least dying...yet here she was, standing and getting ready to fight with her commanding officer, with six inches of barking metal sticking practically out of her twat!  
>"What..." Deryn wheezed. "What ARE you?"<br>"Bloom, get her out of here!" Shaw ordered. Anya nodded, grabbing Deryn by the shoulder. Before she could get to the door, there was a loud "crack" and she cried out, falling to the side and groaning with her hand clasped to her leg.  
>The object that had struck her rolled to Deryn's feet; a finger-sized black bullet, made of rubber.<br>"_No one is going anywhere."  
><em>With another cascade of cracking wood, Marasco's attacker reappeared from behind the curtain, striding from behind it like the villain in a bad play.  
>"Barking spiders..." Deryn whispered.<br>What stood opposite Marasco was some kind of...mini-walker, almost. Or a suit of ancient Clanker armor, given life and movement. It was human shaped, its body made of plates of smooth, rounded black metal that seemed to reflect the stage lights above it. Its head was a heavy bowl of metal, with a darkened glass faceplate, onto which had been scratched a skull, jaws open as if to swallow prey. The joints were sealed with rubber, same as the bullet it had fired at Anya. It was easy enough to see why; strapped to the thing's back were a pair of massive coils, sealed in thick glass, with bolts of lightning leaping around inside. Tesla coils.  
>And, on its right shoulder, an insignia; a grinning skull with a pair of steel wings extending behind it, lighting bolts radiating from the four corners. There was German writing underneath, but Deryn couldn't quite see it from where she was, and the suit turned to face her before she could attempt again.<br>"_This is quite fortunate..._" The suit spoke. Deryn realized it had to be a person in there...some poor Clanker. Barking spiders...who would willingly wear a contraption like this?  
>"<em>They said that Darwin's Fist would be here...I did not expect so many. Good. More promotions for me. Now, who wan-<em>"  
>The word "want" turned into a cry of shock as Marasco and Shaw both opened fire, emptying the magazines of their pistols into the armor, the sound of gunfire echoing so loud off the walls Deryn had to clap her hands over her ears. The wielder stumbled, plating making "ping" noises as the bullets bounced clean off.<br>"Shit, its bulletproof!" Shaw spat, tossing her pistol away and grabbing her knife. Marasco joined her and they charged at the same time, her to the left, him to the right.  
>The armor operator steadied himself, raised his hands, and clenched his fists.<br>There was a pair of loud "snaps" and both American soldiers went hurtling backwards, bodies crackling with electricity. The smell of ozone and burnt flesh filled the room, making Deryn gag.  
>"Get down."<br>Anya spoke quietly from behind her. Deryn did as she was told, frustration with her situation now replaced by cold, undergarment-clarting fear. Something hot trickled down her leg into her socks, and she blushed as she realized she'd wet herself. Thankfully, none of them could see...  
>"Hey, <em>mudak<em>!" Anya howled, rising. In her hands was the Thompson Deryn had dropped earlier.  
>The soldier turned, just in time to see the weapon and Anya pull the trigger.<br>There was a sound like tearing cloth, and the soldier, stumbled backwards, bullets rattling against his suit like raindrops. Then one struck something lucky and he keeled over, leg failing.  
>"<em>Dummkopf!<em>" He shouted, only to be cut off by Marasco, who charged with a howl and cracked him across the back of the head with what looked like a sandbag from the curtain. He stumbled, grunting, and staggered upwards, giving Marasco the room he needed to smash the bag across his faceplate. It exploded, showering them both with sand; an event that turned out to be a positive thing for the American. The armor operator cursed again, leg buckling once more. Even from where she was, Deryn could hear the unmistakable sound of grit in gears.  
>"Not so tough now, are you!" Marasco shouted, kicking the faceplate again and cracking it. The operator rolled, trying to get up on his feet again, but Marasco pressed the attack. He sounded mad, madder than Deryn had ever heard him, and he looked like he was putting the adrenaline that was coming from that anger to good use. The next punch he threw somehow managed to send the operator reeling backwards, and popped the other leg joint, so that he was kneeling.<br>The Sergeant charged again, grabbing the front of the soldier's armor and punching the faceplate.  
>"Let. Me. See. Your. Mating. FACE!"<br>With the last word the plate shattered, a thousand glittering shards of glass going away from his fist.  
>The operator reacted by smashing his fists into Marasco's arms and triggering another surge of lightning. The sergeant howled, body twitching and hair standing on end. He kicked the soldier back, getting some distance and dropping to his own knees.<br>"We have to help him!" Anya noted, face dark. She muttered something else Deryn didn't catch (another swear word probably) and looked around.  
>"There!"<br>She pointed, behind the operator. It took Deryn a moment to realize what she was pointing at.  
>There...a pool of water, dripping from the hole in the ceiling. Must be snow melt from the roof...<br>And next to it...a severed cord from the armor, shot clean out of its plug by Marasco and Shaw's barrage. Still live too...Deryn could see electricity sparking from its end.  
>In that second, her path was clear. Her fear left, replaced by determination.<br>Time to make up for everything earlier...  
>She tossed off the coat she was wearing (it would just slow her down) and sprinted down the side of the isle, hugging the seats so as not to be noticed. She wasn't too worried...the soldier and Marasco were too engrossed in trading blows, like a pair of krakens duking it out.<br>Deryn sprinted up the side steps to the stage, slipping around one of the curtains and in between two others.  
>There...the cord. All she had to do was be in possition at the right time...<br>Marasco swung another blow at the soldier, fist catching the chest plate. It glanced off, but the momentum transfered. The soldier stumbled, arms moving for balance...and the cord ended up right over the water.  
>"Hey, Clanker!" Deryn shouted, darting out and down. Her fingers grasped the wire, feeling its warmth.<br>"Who's the _dummkopf_ now?"  
>With a grunt, she ripped the cord down and into the water puddle, leaping away just in time.<br>It was like a fireworks display in-doors; the soldier's armor suddenly surged with electricity, the twin coils on its back exploding and spraying glass everywhere. Even Marasco recoiled, covering his face.  
>In a second, it was over. The armor, now still, fell forwards with a great crash, cracking the stage.<br>The air stilled, except for the panting breathing of the soldiers.  
>"Fab mater!" Marasco muttered, spitting a long stream of blood. "Clart, Sharp...that was incredible."<br>"Aye." Deryn sat down, hard, feeling her whole body shake. She'd never had an adrenaline rush like THAT...not once during her time on the _Leviathan_.  
>"What...what the barking spiders was THAT?"<br>Marasco shrugged and sighed, dropping to his knees. He looked incredibly pale, and for a long moment, Deryn was afraid he was going to pass out. But he took a few deep breaths and pulled something from his front pocket, popping it into his mouth and chewing. As he swallowed, Shaw and Anya joined him, the former holding her side where the bar had gone through.  
>"Not a clue...but it was Clanker, for sure. No doubt about that."<br>He stood, shakily, and went to the still armored form, rolling it over.  
>"Now lets see who you are, my good m-"<br>His voice stopped. Deryn, confused, looked over his shoulder.  
>"That's not a man." Anya said simply.<br>"Indeed not." Marasco noted.  
>Deryn looked closer. Between shards of jagged, broken glass, she could see high cheek bones, pale skin, and a long, still weeping cut. A green eye, frozen open and wide.<br>A girl. It had been a GIRL driving this suit the whole time...  
>"Barking spiders." She whispered. Marasco knelt down, reaching under the chest plate.<br>"Dog tags...lets see."  
>He pulled his hand back, fist clenched around a strip of cloth with two pressed-metal plates on the end.<br>"Says her name was Lotte Schwarz. Corporal. Hometown Dresden. And then it just says "Die Stahl Legion"."  
>"Says that on her shoulder too." Shaw noted. So that was what the patch had said.<br>Marasco frowned, tucking the tags away.  
>"We REALLY need to get back to the rest of the Fist now. If there are more like her out there...we're in SERIOUS trouble."<br>"There could be barking MORE?" Deryn asked, mouth open in shock. The fact that ONE of these "Stahl Legion" soldiers exsisted was shocking...more just seemed imcomprihensable.  
>"Her tags say "The Steel Legion"." Marasco said, translating the Clanker into English. "There's more of her."<br>"Mate." Shaw sighed. "This is gonna be a bloodbath..."  
>"Nature of war." Marasco noted grimly, flipping Lotte's dogtags into his hand with ease and placing them in one of his chest pockets. "Its an arms race. Just like evolution...and THAT is why we're going to win."<br>He stood, looking around.  
>"Clart, my helmets gone...the el-tee's gonna chew me out..."<br>He sighed again, then retreieved his memor dolphin. The fab looked a little shaken up. It seemed to be singing an American dance tune off-key to itself, but it quieted when Marasco squeezed it.  
>"Tripp..." He said, voice aching. "Marasco here...we need a pick up at the Bloom theater...make it...just make it barking fast."<br>He put the dolphin away and turned, looking towards the ladder leading up to the roof, the one that Lotte had obviously used to get down.  
>He also, obviously unintentionally, looked at Deryn.<br>What she saw shook her.  
>This was not the confident soldier she'd seen before...the one who had given her shivers and laughed at her when she first arrived.<br>He looked...shaken. Tired...even, just maybe...SCARED.  
>Shaw noticed it too.<br>"Sarge, you alright?" She asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Marasco accepted it, nodding numbly.  
>"Aftershocks...those damn Tesla Gauntlets pack quite a whallop."<br>"Aye." Shaw chuckled, but it was a dry one. Anya, obviously wanting to get out of the theater, hurried past them to the ladder, sweeping Deryn along in her wake.  
>Cold air from the roof rushed in, making Deryn shiver. She covered her arms and realized, to her shock, that she'd forgotten to retreive the jacket she had dropped when she started her attack on Lotte.<br>Worse; that had been five minutes before. For the last five minutes, all three soldiers had been able to look at her bare middle and diddies.  
>Her blush was so hot as she climbed the ladder that she swore snow would melt into steam upon contact with her. Thankfully, none of the others commented about the situation, other than Shaw, who seemed to notice as well and grabbed the jacket for her, carrying it up the ladder after Marasco scaled it.<br>The roof of the Bloom Theater was a great, glittering expanse of flat, frozen tile, covered in a mixture of ice and snow. Anya strode out onto it without a care, but Deryn nearly fell flat on her bum the moment she stepped out.  
>"Barking spiders!" She shouted, slipping backwards and catching herself on the roof panel the group had opened to get out.<br>"Shit, its like the ice rink at Discovery..." Shaw noted, stepping out with a bit more care. Her boots cracked ice every where she walked, meaning her path was slightly easier.  
>"Except we aren't getting shot at by DI's with training rounds..." Marasco noted, stepping out after her and helping Deryn to her feet. His boots crushed straight through the crust of ice to the roof below, creating a long series of gun-shot like noises as he walked. Deryn followed, hopping into the holes he left in his wake for traction.<br>"Where is the Cattlecar?" Anya asked, looking up and around.  
>"Should be here in about five minutes..." Marasco answered, breathing out long and hard, rubbing his eyes. "God, I'm going to need a shower...a really LONG one..."<br>"I'll join you." Shaw said, moving to stand next to him.  
>"Please." The Sergeant crossed his arms and looked up into the snow. Deryn glanced up at him, seeing something else she never expected; worry, engraved in the lines on his face.<br>"What the barking spiders was that thing?" She asked, unable to stop herself. Marasco looked down at her, eyes cold and shocked-looking.  
>"The beginning of an arms race...just like Dr. Halsey feared. Combat Darwinism. If an organism devises a new defense, the predator develops a new offense."<br>"And...that thing was..."  
>"A predator. Of US." Shaw said, looking grim.<p>

"Barking spiders."  
>Silence fell over the soldiers as they waited for the Cattlecar. Deryn shivered inside her coat, both from the cold and from adrenaline letdown. That had been barking CLOSE...too barking close.<br>Finally, with a roar, the Cattlecar appered over the roof, lowering down and whipping up a hailstorm of snow and ice chunks that flew in every direction like shattered glass.  
>"That's not Tripp's bird..." Marasco noted, frowning. The tail ramp of the gyrothopter dropped and the soldiers clambered aboard, Deryn following with shakey legs and Anya taking up the rear, a scowl on her face.<br>"Cluney! Where the hell's Tripp?" Marasco shouted, clambering to the very front of the Cattlecar's bay and banging on the cockpit door.  
>"She's picking up the rest of First Squad!" Cluney shouted from the cockpit. "The el-tee wasn't everone back home before they open up on these basards.<br>"Open up?" Shaw asked, frowning her single good eyebrow.  
>"Aye! Scorched earth policy; if we can't have St. Peterburg, then the Bolshiveks are going to be sitting atop a bunch of flaming rubble!"<br>"Good."  
>Everyone turned to Anya, who's face had gone stone cold and emotionless.<br>"Let the filthy pigs burn. Make them PAY for what they have done and have nothing to show for their losses."  
>"Copy that!" Cluney shouted, raising the back ramp. Everyone was forced into their seats as the Cattlecar rose, spinning around and raising its nose to the sky as it put distance between the theater and itself.<br>Deryn looked over at Anya, seeing her glance out the side of the  
>She muttered something in Russian that she couldn't catch, then turned to Deryn and grinned.<br>"Seems like we might get to know each other well in the near future, _da_?" She said.  
>"Aye." Though in all honest Deryn wasn't too sure she liked the idea...<br>Wasn't really much she could do about it now...Anya, like her, she was starting to realize, was here to stay.  
>AND...and she'd learned something BIG from this mission...<br>Deryn turned to Marasco, catching his eye.  
>"When we get back...we need to talk." She said, voice colder than she intended it to be. The Sergeant nodded.<p>

"We'll talk." He agreed.  
>Satisfied, Deryn sat back in her seat as the Cattlecar raced home, interior lit by the first flames of what would eventually become a firestrom that would consume St. Petersburg whole.<p> 


	11. Chapter 10

Darwin's Fist

Chapter 10

It had been strange for Alek, the first few weeks aboard this new airship. He'd thought he could use what he'd learned during his time on the _Leviathan_ to help...but, as it turned out, that was like trying to use lessons learned in a Stormwalker to operate a land dreadnaught.  
>After the first few couple of time he'd accidentally gotten in people's way (and had promptly been chewed out with swear words and insults to his parents sexual habits that would have made Deryn blush), the former prince eventually decided that it was best if he stayed out of the way while everyone else did their thing.<br>His original plan had been to stick with Deryn; after all, on an airship as big as their current residence, surely there were lots of quiet places where two young people of budding romantic passion might find time to be alone together and endulge in such...Darwinist passions...  
>But then Deryn had gotten caught up in all the fighting and the running of the unit (within Darwin's Fist, it seemed, being female nearly guearenteed a position of power), and he'd found himself alone with Dr. Barlow, who had taken to hiding as well and moping.<br>It had only been by accident that Alek had found out the reason for her sudden depression; whilst sorting papers on the boffin's desk (a massive job that should rightfully have required the use of at least four assitants and someone with a mechanical calculator), he'd run across the paper that had been handed to her during their first day aboard. It was smudged (a mixture of tea and what Alek recognized easily as tears), but the message contained within was still quite understandable;  
><strong>RZS building damaged stop<br>Heavy casualties stop  
>Dr. Barlow among stop<br>**

It had taken Alek nearly a day to figure out that the "Dr. Barlow" mentioned in the message was NOT the boffin who he was helping (who was, quite obviously, still alive and NOT at the Socioty headquarters when it had been bombed).  
>The unfortunate Barlow mentioned was, in fact, the good Doctor's husband.<br>No wonder she had been the way she had...Alek knew the feeling of loss all too well.  
>At least he had been busy attempting to stay alive and learning to operate the Stormwalker while he had been dealing with his feelings...poor Dr. Barlow had nothing to distract her.<br>And Alek could find nothing to comfort her with. She seemed to ignore him whenever they were in the same room, as if he were a wraith or ghost, nothing solid.  
>Eventually Alek had given up on that as well and taken to roaming the halls when they were quiet, finding SOMETHING to do.<br>Ironically enough, he found it.  
>When he had first been brought aboard, Alek had been under the interpretation that the whole of the <em>Dreadnaught<em> was a Darwinist vehicle through and through (fittingly enough for the base of a unit known as Darwin's Fist). As he'd gotten to know it better though, he found that the split that had devided America when he had been in New York was still present here.  
>For every Darwinist soldier, there was at least one Clanker. The majority of the airship itself was Clanker make (minus the skin of course, and some of the internal structure), the stables of fabs were balanced out by repair bays loaded with American walkers and, amazingly enough, treaded and wheeled vehicles, and the main defense batteries were not flechette bats and strafing hawks but machine gun turrets.<br>It was amongst these Clanker soldiers that Alek found sollace; machine operators with rough nicknames like "Tank Girl" and "Spanners" and rougher looks to match, men and women with a preference for big guns and heavy machines, German cigarretes, greasy, easy-to-store food and cheap beers, all of which they shared eagerly with Alek in return for what seemed to be the universal currency amongst them; stories.  
>He told of his adventures night-walking against the Germans a dozen times, his brilliant re-use of his Stormwalker's engines to lift an airbeast, the fights in Istanbul and the destruction of Goliath (they seemed to like that one the most...after every telling there would always be at least one argument between soldiers, arguing over if the machine would have been powerful enough to fry Berlin from New York, often with money quickly being involved).<br>It was through this connection to the Fist's lesser-acknowlaged Clanker side that Alek found himself in the main hanger when Deryn returned from her mission.  
>He had been helping one of the pilots with a transmission problem when the massive doors of the hanger ground open.<br>"What's going on?" He shouted, pulling his head from inside the Cattlecar's port rotor assembly.  
>The pilot, Warrent Officer Natsworthy, pushed his goggles up onto his head and barked the same question into the tiny fabricated dolphin stuck in his pocket.<br>"Inbound Cattlecars!" He shouted up, pulling his goggles completely off his dark-haired head and throwing his tools into the cockpit. "First and Second Squads just coming back from their mission!"  
>Alek tossed his own tools eagerly and clambered down. He'd only found out that Deryn had foolishly managed to squeezer her way onto Sergreant Marasco's mission a few hours before, and his insides had been as twisted up as the wires inside a walker's radio set after a crash ever since.<br>He feverently hoped she was okay...she would be, of course, he kept telling himself. She was with Marasco and Shaw; if they couldn't keep her alive themselves, well, Deryn had been through fights before...she lived for that sort of thing.  
>She'd come back to him safe and sound and they'd be back to their usual routine.<br>The doors finished opening, and as Alek watched, the first speck appered in the far distance.  
>"Here it comes...which one do you think it is?"<br>Natsworthy was chatting with fellow pilot Warrent Officer Valentine, who was looking out into the clouds with a pair of fabricated binoculars.  
>"First Squad, gotta be...they're closer remember? We're over Russia...Second Squad's gone all the way down to Constantinopal."<br>"Istambul." Alek corrected instantly. "Its actually Istambul."  
>"Whatever."<br>All three soldiers looked closer at the incoming Cattlecar. Whichever unit it held, it was coming in fast. "We might want to move..."  
>The two Warrent Officers seemed to agree with him and they drew back, clearing the area just as the Cattlecar soared in and spun around to drop its tail ramp and unload its load of personeel.<br>Eager to see who it was, Alek pushed between the two pilots...only to be dissapointed as the soldiers exiting were shown to be wearing Second Squad insignia.  
>"What the heck? Second Squad..." Valentine asked in surprise.<br>"Maybe they came back early...or they failed-"  
>As if in asnwer, two soldiers exited, carrying a stretcher with a dark-skinned form laying prone on it. Alek recognized it instantly.<br>"Lilit?"  
>He pushed closer, suddenly shaking. He'd know that things had gone bad in Istambul but he didn't figure that the rebel girl had been caught in it...<br>"She'll live."  
>The voice came from behind her, from an exhausted looking Sergeant Harkness who stepped off the back with his helmet under his hand.<br>"Took some shrapnel and a bit of fire...but she was spitting curses at us when we pulled her out of the wreck of her appartment. Her friend, that Kigzar guy or whatever...he's dead though...so's most of the Coalition."  
>The Sergeant looked grim, and Alek smelled chordite; retreiving Lilit had obviously not been a peaceful operation.<br>"This is..."  
>He couldn't find the words to describe it. They stuck on his tounge like a leech and didn't move.<br>"Horrifying? Yeah. That's war for you...you had a good plan, trying to avoid it."  
>Harkness gave Alek a soft smile, patting his shoulder like an older brother comforting his younger sibiling on a loss. Alek had an urge to shrug it off, but didn't.<br>"That works." He looked away, out into the sky again, towards where a second dot was slowly growing. Harkness noticed and joined him, rifle rustling slightly against his shoulder.  
>"You're girl's fine." He said quietly. "Heard it from Sergeant Marasco himself; she's in one piece and somehow managed to kill some specialized Clanker-"<br>"What?"  
>Alek shifted and looked at Harkness in horror. Deryn had fought something? Where in blazes had Marasco and Shaw been?<br>"Yeah...you should probably ask her yourself though. Something tells me she's gonna be telling anyone who'll listen."  
>Alek broke away and hurried to where he could see several other soldiers assembling, what he assumed was the landing zone for the incoming Cattlecar. Sure enough, a minute later the bulky VTOL roared into the hanger, shifted around like the one before it, and opened its cargo door to a stream of sweating, blood-covered soldiers with wide eyes and various signs of combat.<br>And first off the ramp was Deryn, blue eyes bright, head held high like she was part of the unit...  
>And shirt completely open, chest bare for all to see.<br>Alek blushed and looked away, waiting for everyone else to do the same. When no one else did, he turned back and watched as the rest of First Squad existed. Last off was Marasco, followed by someone in a massive Russian overcoat, bearing a sword in a scabbard under his arm. After a moment the figure threw the coat off, revealing the livery of a Romanov Royal Guard and-  
>For the second time in less than half an hour, Alek found himself recognizing the newcomer.<br>"Bloom?"  
>SHING.<br>Something bright and very cold was suddenly being pointed directly between his eyes, and Alek crossed them in an attempt to see what it was. He saw himself mirrored back twice, and as he painfully worked his eyes back into their original position he made out the blade of a cavalry sword.  
>"Easy, Bloom...he's on our side." Marasco's voice spoke with firm authority, and the blade lowered, the arm that was holding it being pushed down by the firm hand of the Sergeant.<br>Bloom made a dismissive snorting noise, then looked over Alek as if he didn't exist.  
>"We do not have time for such games." She said, in English that was thick with an accent. "We have Germans to kill, yes?"<br>Marasco glanced at her, then looked down at something in his hand. Alek followed his gaze with his own, seeing the man clutching some kind of metal tag on a twine necklace.  
>"Soon. Right now, we've got some things to talk about."<br>Marasco looked up, seeing Harkness and signalling him over.  
>"Status?"<br>"Green, sir. No casualties amongst Second Squad...but the CUP is KIA nearly down to the man.  
>"Who's left?"<br>"A few minor members...and Lilit. We picked her up from her appartment."  
>"She in one piece?"<br>"Mostly. Broken arm, shattered pelvis...we sent her to the infirmary."  
>"Alright. Get Second Squad to the barracks and then meet me on the bridge. Dr. H is going to want to hear our reports."<br>"Yes sir."  
>Harkness saluted and turned back to his men. Marasco turned and saw Alek watching him, eyebrows raising in surprise.<br>"Fredinand...didn't expect to see you here."  
>Alek fumbled with his words for a second, then got out "I was waiting for Deryn. Wanted to see if she was alright..."<br>Marasco grinned.  
>"She's more than alright...she killed herself a Clanker this run. You've got yourself a true blue Darwinist badass in her..."<br>He put a firm grip on Alek's shoulder and locked eyes with him.  
>"Make sure she gets a proper reward, aye?"<br>"Aye."  
>Marasco let go, seemingly satisfied, and wandered off, Bloom following him with her sword slung over her shoulder.<br>Confused and alone, Alek was surprised when someone else put arms on him. He flinched, but the owner's lilt reached his ears and he relaxed.  
>"Aw...you were waiting for me?" Deryn said, voice more teasing than Alek had ever heard it. Her bare arms wrapped around Alek's neck and shoulders, rubbing the points that always managed to tie themselves up into painful knots when he was working. Deryn knew the best way to make him relax...<br>"Of course." He said, then remembered WHY he was here in the first place.  
>"That was reckless, Deryn. Rushing out like that...you're not a soldier! You could have been-"<br>"What? Hurt, killed? Maybe."  
>Deryn's warm lips pressed to his cheek and her hot breath ghosted across his neck and down his arm.<br>"But I didn't...and now I feel barking GREAT."  
>The world spun as Deryn turned him around and Alek's next complaint was flattened against her lips. What came out instead was a soft of half-whimper, half-sigh of joy.<br>Deryn's lips, unlike the rest of her, were soft and womanly and he could just kiss them for DAYS...

Perhaps he would, when this was done. Go back to their cabin and lock themselves in for a couple of days and just kiss, kiss, kiss...  
>Deryn seemed to have other ideas. Her hands were moving, and suddenly Alek found himself flat against the side of one of the Cattlecars.<br>"Deryn...what happened out there?" He gasped, pushing her back gently so he could breath and look at her in the eyes.  
>"Nothing. Just a little fight..." She grinned, eyes glittering like a pair of jewels. "You've never seen me after a fight have you?"<br>"N-no..." He couldn't rightfully say that he had. He'd seen her hours later, even days...but never DIRECTLY after a fight.  
>"I'm always like this...All that adrenaline just gets me going." She grinned, pressing harder against him, obviously intent on another round of kisses, but Alek pushed back just as hard. He wanted to talk to her right now, get some things off his chest...not have them smashed flat against her lips and...<br>Oh God's wounds...she still didn't have a shirt on!  
>Alek's eyes rolled upwards slightly in shame and embarresment, and Deryn seemed to notice, chuckling slightly and shrugging the coat she was wearing completely off.<br>"I think I might do more missions...I only went on this one to find something out but...barking SPIDERS, what a rush!"  
>She laughed, and made another lunge towards Alek's face. He moved to the side, and with an echoing "clang" Deryn's head bounced off the side of the Cattlecar.<br>"Ow!"  
>She blinked and rubbed her head, eyes squeezed shut in pain. Alek, on instinct, put his hands on her shoulder and over her own hand on her face.<br>"Are you-"  
>"Aye, barking fine...just cracked my attic."<br>She sounded normal again...perhaps the impact had shaken her from whatever strangeness had settled over her.  
>"You want some ice?"<br>"No, I'll be fine. Just hurts." She rubbed her head again, cursing, but otherwise seemed fine. As she did, she seemed to realize that she was topless and her face went as red as his.  
>"Barking spiders Alek! You could have mentioned THIS!"<br>She indicated her lack of clothing, grabbing the coat from earlier and bundling it around herself, much to both their reliefs.  
>"Sorry, sorry..."<br>"Aye, you better be. Come on."  
>She started off, hands deep in the coat's pockets, before looking back over her shoulder at Alek, who hadn't moved.<br>"What? Marasco said he wanted you too...something about "Clanker things"."  
>"Of course."<br>The two fell into step, Deryn cursing and rubbing her forhead occasionally. Alek could tell from expereince the impact was going to bruise rather brutally...something for her to be proud of later, he figured.  
>Her personality, however...<br>The trip from the hanger bay to the bridge took as short as it had last time, and the soldiers guarding the door seemed to be expecting them, as they swung the great metal sheet wide far before they reached it.  
>Dusk light, lit with the fires of...something, crackled through the great windows of the bridge, making it seem like the airship was soaring over the lowest circle of hell.<br>A quick glance out one of them proved that description to be disturbingly accurate...below them was what was once obviously cityscape, but was now...  
>"God's wounds."<br>"Aye. Scorched earth policy from the Russians. If they can't have St. Petersburg..."  
>"But...there must be people down there-"<br>"No one but Bolshiveks. And as far as we're concerned, they're as bad as the Clankers."  
>Deryn's voice was colder than Alek had ever heard it. She looked different to; her posture was slumped, her shoulders hunched, as if whatever internal fire had kept her going through trial and tribulation of the past had finally been dampened.<br>Alek put his hand on her shoulder gently, but she shrugged it off and headed for the center of the bridge.  
>Around the chart table that they had witnessed the fall of Europe on stood Sergeant's Harkness and Marasco, Leiutenant MacPherson (making her first in-person apperance, at least for Alek, in several weeks), Dr. Halsey, and Bloom the royal guard. The latter seemed to be finishing up an explanation of what had happened in the city.<br>"-by the time I was able to get there, the mudak commoners had broken through. I killed what I could, but they were like a tide."  
>"So the Romanovs-" Dr. Halsey asked, hands spread like spiders across the table as she listened.<br>"Dead. By the filthy hands of their subjects."  
>Bloom paused, turning, eyes gliding directly over Alek as if he didn't exist before landing on Deryn.<br>"Ah, little sister!" She said, a slight grin on her lips. "Come, share in our rememberances."  
>She pushed something that had been hidden from sight until that moment by her body towards Deryn. Alek recognized vodka when he saw and smelled it.<br>Deryn took the bottle and swallowed a long drink. Marasco and Harkness looked on approvingly.  
>"Sharp certainly earned her drink from the Bottle of Death today," the former noted. "She damn-near singlehandely killed a Clanker special operations soldier."<br>"Ah, yes...you were going to tell me about that?" Halsey noted, shifting her attention to Marasco.  
>"After Bloom had finished-"<br>"I am done."  
>"Well then."<br>Marasco sighed and tossed the tag from the hanger onto the table. Halsey picked it up, looking at it with a grim expression.  
>"Its what you feared, ma'am. This war's turning into an arms race. This "Stahl Legion" bitch damn near killed Shaw and I by herself..."<br>"Yes...Hmm. Die Stahl Legion..."  
>Halsey's eyes swung to look at Alek.<br>"Tell me, Agent Ferdinand...does that title ring any bells with you?"  
>Alek thought back on instinct, thinking as far back as to when he was still a prince of Austria-Hungary, playing with his toys on his desk while his parents were busy.<br>"Yes...once. My father was very much against whatever it was...some kind of...small walkers, I think."  
>"Try powered exoskeleton." Marasco noted, tilting his head to the side. As he did, an injury Alek had missed came to his attention; a massive burn, stretching up the Sergeant's neck into his hair.<br>"One packing twin Tesla Gauntlets and battery powered."  
>"The Clankers always seem to have something new, don't they?" Harkness noted.<br>"Da. It is because they cannot love correctly, like Darwinists. They must make machines to cover up for their inadequacies." Bloom interjected, voice dripping with equal amounts of accent and contempt.  
>"Then we'll just make something better." Deryn said, with a slight grin. She took a longer swig of the vodka, and Alek realized she might be getting drunk already.<br>Had she had any food before the mission? Probably not...and she was running high on adrenaline-  
>"We already have." Dr. Halsey said quietly, a dark smile pulling at her lips. "Do not worry yourself with the "Steel Legion", my dear Sergeants. In fact...Harkness, would you kind take Miss Bloom to her quarters? If she is to be staying here, we can't have her sleeping in the hanger, or the fab pens..."<br>"Ma'am." Harkness saluted and moved Bloom gently from the room. The girl followed with a haughty click of her boots.  
>The bridge echoed with their footfalls. Alek realized just how EMPTY it was...other than Marasco, Halsey, Deryn and himself, it was empty.<br>The _Dreadnaught_ drove itself mostly, just like the _Leviathan._ Apperently a pilot wasn't needed later at night...or perhaps when the course of the airship didn't matter.  
>"Now." Halsey said, bringing his attention back to her, and to the dark-faced Sergeant standing across the table.<br>"It seems that the Clankers have made the move we feared they would...and its time for our countermove."  
>The boffin looked up at Marasco, who gazed back impassivly.<br>"Sergeant Marasco: I am personally recinding Exectutive Combat Order Epsilon 45. Darwin's Fist is no longer just a reactionary force. There will be no more rescue missions; no more extractions. We will leave that to the Royal Air Service and other lesser groups. Its time for the Fist to live up to its name."  
>Marasco nodded, a smile that sent shivers roaring up Alek's spine crossing his face.<br>"Just point at the spot on the map, ma'am." He rumbled. "And consider it gone."  
>"A bit more paitence, Sergeant. As much as I know you wish to smash and smite, we cannot simply obliterate random Clanker cities without plan. We are too few, and too valuable to lose. Remember; there are only three dozen Darwins against the entire army of Clanker Germany. You will need backup if you wish to do any effective work, and come back alive."<br>"Last I checked, coming back alive was a secondary option." Marasco growled. "We're dead by everyone's rights already anyway simply by existing."  
>"There is a difference between throwing your life away and spending it, Sergeant. Remember that."<br>Marasco nodded, but grudgingly. Halsey, apparently unfinished, continued.  
>"Our next objective is to return home at full speed, then begin our assault. Tommorow, you will inform the rest of the unit of the recinding of the order, and make sure that Miss Bloom feels welcome. She will be a most useful asset to our endeavours."<br>"Understood, ma'am. Anything else?"  
>"One more thing..."<br>Alek, confused by the whole conversation, turned to Deryn, finding her slowly sinking over the chart table, the bottle of vodka nearly empty. On instinct, she tipped the glass to her face again and tried to swallow, promptly failing and splashing the remainder of the drink across her front.  
>Halsey seemed to notice as well.<br>"Get Agent Sharp off my bridge before she makes a fool of herself, would you? You know how the memory dolphins like to chatter..."  
>"Rumors fly when you've got a hive mind." Marasco agreed. With a grunt, he reached down and picked Deryn up, lifting her over his shoulders.<br>"Here, I've-" Alek started to offer help, but Marasco shot him a glare. For a second, Alek swore the Sergeant's eyes blazed yellow. Another look showed them to be blue as always.  
>Must have been the fire outside...<br>"I'll handle her. You want to lead me to your cabin so I can sling her sloshed dorsal reigins down, go right ahead."  
>The boy nodded, hurrying ahead down the hall. Marasco followed, Deryn flopping restlessly on his shoulders.<br>"Damn Halsey." Marasco growled. "We can take em..."  
>"Who, the entire German military?"<br>The question popped out of Alek's mouth without him meaning to say it. Marasco replied as if he'd meant to.  
>"No, the goddamn Seattle Symphony. Of COURSE the German military. They're just a bunch of weak-spined kraut-eating bastards hiding inside their tin toys. Toss em on the ground and show them a REAL man and they start running."<br>"If I find a "real man", I'll be sure to tell you, because you cert-"  
>There was a rushing noise, and suddenly pain blossomed across Alek's back. He saw stars, and as they cleared, he saw Marasco's face instead, inches from his own.<br>"You want to REPEAT that, Clanker?" Spittle, smelling like blood and smoke, splattered onto Alek's face.  
>He stared down at the American, but he found his will suddenly weakening. Looking into Marasco's eyes was like gazing at an oncoming, out of control walker, or a fab on a war-rage...<br>"You're not a man. You're not even human."  
>Suddenly he was flying again, smashing into the ceiling (ceiling? How?) of the passagway, then the floor, rising to his feet and feeling pain all over his body.<br>Ow...what the-  
>WHAM!<br>Something solid connected to Alek's midriff, knocking the wind out of him like a bad fall and flipping him over.  
>"YOU WANT TO REPEAT THAT TOO?!" Marasco shouted, foot suddenly crushing Alek's ribs against the floor. "CAUSE IT SURE AS MATE SOUNDED LIKE YOU SAID I WASN'T HUMAN!"<br>"You're...not."  
>Both males turned, seeing the new speaker. Deryn, rising from the ground, slugish and obviously drunk to the point of near exhaustion. She leaned against the wall, face half-melted looking.<br>"Seen you fight...you heal. You resist...you're not human." She muttered, before burping a couple times and dry-heaving. When she was done, she stood up a bit straighter, obviously still drunk, but looking a bit stronger.  
>"You're not human. Not human. Too much...something more."<br>Alek glanced at Marasco, expecting the man to do...what? Lash out? Throw them both out the window? Beat them senseless?  
>No...instead, he seemed to get smaller, slumping, sitting down on the ground with his hands around his ankles, eyes looking over his knees.<br>"Yeah. We are. You know what we are, don't you, Sharp?"  
>Eyes back to Deryn, who's face was turning more solid with the second, eyes glittering with booze and maybe a bit of excitement.<br>"You're...you're...you're illigal. Shouldn't exist."  
>She swallowed, burped, then spat out five words that made Alek's stomach suddenly turn inside out.<br>"You're fabs. This whole unit." 


	12. Chapter 11

Darwin's Fist

Chapter 11

The sheer, echoing silence that filled the hall pressed on Alek's ears like an invisible, breathable liquid. It seemed as if the subtle creaks and groans of the airship moving through the sky and the raging inferno that had once been St. Petersburg below them had been drowned out, sucked down the sudden gaping hole in the universe opened by Deryn's proclamation.  
>The former prince tensed, unsure of what to be wary of, or if he should even be warry at all.<br>Was Marasco going to react to what Deryn had just said? He had certainly reacted earlier...  
>Alek winced as he touched his side. Marasco's combat boot had been the origin of the pain he'd felt earlier, and it hadn't gone away despite the Sergeant's sudden shift in emotions.<br>The soldier looked up over his knees, eyes softer than Alek had even seen them.  
>He understood why, though. He knew what it felt like to let a secret you'd been holding close to your chest just...go.<br>Deryn must have felt the same way when he found out about her gender...under the anger and the strangeness. He couldn't blame her for those though...not really.  
>"Yeah."<br>It took Alek a moment to realize Marasco was answering them.  
>"Gods wounds." He muttered, the realization slowly starting to sink into his brain.<br>He did not much like fabrications...even ones as useful as Bovril, or the _Leviathan_. They disturbed him, and he found it hard to shake the constant wispers of "godless monsters" that echoed through his mind in the quiet times between missions.  
>But what Marasco had just admitted too...that was a whole nother level.<br>FABRICATED HUMANS.

The very thought of it chilled him to the core.  
>Wasn't any fabriction of human life threads illigal? He knew that giving a fab reason certainly was...<br>So...was he looking at a walking, living, breathing breach of Darwinist law?  
>Would he be able to do anything about it if he was?<br>The Sergeant was a competent soldier to say the least, and worse, Alek realized, driven by an intense xenophobia that he had not seen anywhere other than America.  
>Anyone sent to detain him would most certainly meet the same brutal, messy end that the unfortunate Germans he had encountered in the hanger would.<br>"Come on."  
>It took Alek a moment to realize Marasco was speaking again, rising from his curled up position to stand. Looking up at the man's face, a full head and some centimeters above his own, Alek found himself trying to figure out how he had completely managed to miss the fact that he was fabricated BEFORE this moment.<br>Now that he knew it, it was obvious; the soldier's sheer bulk alone hinted at it.  
>What was he going to do now? Alek suddenly realized that all three of them were standing next to a pair of large windows.<br>All Marasco would have to do to silence Deryn and himself would be to pick them up and toss them out of them.  
>Instinctivly, he moved in front of Deryn, meaning to protect her, what little that meant against someone like Marasco. The Sergeant seemed amused by the motion, but didn't make any moves towards them. Instead, he turned and started to walk down the corridor. After a second, he turned and looked back.<br>"You two coming?"  
>"Coming where?" The question was instantly on Alek's lips. Deryn seemed to be trying to form a silimar question, but all that came out was a burp and a groan.<br>"I've read your files. I know how you two are about finding out secrets...and, more importantly, keeping them. You want to know if my boys and I are fabs? Then you deserve to know the WHOLE story."  
>Well, Alek had no answer to THAT...other than, if he was completely honest, he wouldn't mind the whole story.<br>Deryn just nodded and started to shamble towards the Sergeant, who caught her arm to steady her.  
>"Bit of a light weight, your mate is." He noted. Alek figured he wasn't using "mate" in the same way that some of Deryn's fellow airmen had, meaning "friend."<br>"She's 16." He said, as if that excused everything. Marasco flashed a slight smile.  
>"I'd say it has more to do with her body weight..."<br>He promptly picked Deryn up by the shoulders, lifting her like someone else would lift a stubborn, overweight cat currently taking up a prime spot on the couch. Deryn didn't seem to mind. She giggled drunkenly and her head lolled.  
>Marasco set her down and started off again, leaving Alek no choice but to follow him, practically dragging Deryn with him. He was honestly glad to be moving again; standing still reminded him of the ache in his ribs, far too similar to what it had felt like to get shot by the airgun during the battle with the German ironclads just before Istambul, and the ache in his head, which was EXACTLY like when he'd his his head on the spine and Deryn had kissed him for the first time-<br>How quant, he found himself thinking. To believe that he could have a CLANKER relationship with her.  
>Where had that come from?<br>Ahead, Marasco grunted, testing one of the doors to their right. "Jackpot."  
>It clicked and the door swung inwards. The Sergeant ushered Alek and Deryn inside, then shut the door behind him, but didn't lock it. Alek feld a little bit better about this...if the man wanted to do something other than what he planned to, he probably would have made it harder for them to get away.<br>Unless of course he was completely sure they couldn't escape...  
>The room beyond the door was a standard airmans quarters aboard the <em>Dreadnaught<em>. A bunk, a table and a few chairs, a window and a bathroom.  
>Marasco sat down at the table, then rose again a moment later, heading to the small refrigeration unit that sat in the corner and opening it.<br>"Someone's gonna need a drink for this...don't know if its you two or me."  
>He plunked a brown glass bottle onto the table; some form of Darwinist ale or stout no doubt...perhaps even a whisky.<br>Alek wasn't sure, nor did he care. He tended to abstain from alcohol whenever it was offered...it didn't seem to agree with him.  
>Unlike Deryn...<br>He glanced over at the girl, who was now flat on her face on the table. She wasn't asleep though...she was mumbling to herself, and by straining his ears Alek was able to make out "Lilit, stop it, that's Alek's job."  
>Oh wonderful.<br>"Leave her be. She'll be fine in a couple hours." Marasco said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face. For a moment, Alek saw his face change; not the hardened, veteran soldier with the burning urge to kill everything and anything remotely Clanker with oblitorative force, but a young man, maybe in his 20s, who had been saddled with a horrible fate and just wanted to go home.  
>Or was he reading too much into Marasco's features? Maybe.<br>The Sergeant let out a long sigh, and looked up at the ceiling. He rummaged in his pocket, coming out with a cigarette and a lighter.  
>"So; where to start..."<br>He flicked the lighter a few times till it caught, dabbed the tip of the cigarette against it till it caught as well, then flicked the lighter closed and stuck the latter into his mouth, blowing out an impressive plume of smoke. The smell made Alek cringe, but the Sergeant either didn't notice, didn't care, or both.  
>"The beginning?" He prompted, through a slight cough. Marasco nodded, still leaning back, eyes looking up into the great nothingness of the ceiling.<br>"Click; nap time."  
>Marasco's front pocket shuffled, and the fabricated dolphin he carried with him hopped out of it, raising its fin in some kind of salute, then closed its eyes and fell over on its side with a damp "thud", before beginning to gently make whiny, snores and the occasional click.<br>"Cant have him transmitting to the rest of the dolphins...they've got a hive mind going, see. What one sees and hears, they ALL see and hear. Perfect for a unit that needs to have constant situational awareness and communication...not so great for secrets."  
>He scooted the dolphin a little bit more away from him, then sat back again and resumed gazing at the ceiling.<br>"I wasn't born fabricated." He started. It sounded a bit awkward to Alek, but it also sounded like Marasco wasn't really talking TO him.  
>Perhaps the Sergeant merely needed to get this off his chest to SOMEONE...it didn't matter who.<br>"I was born human, same as the rest of the Fist. My dad was an engineer for Boeing; you know, the airplane company. My mom used to be some kind of boffin, then she found out she was going to have me and she quit her job. Not what you'd call an exceptional family, but they weren't too bad either."  
>He took a long drag, exhaling upwards in a long puff. Alek kept his mouth shut and let him talk, taking in every detail he could. Deryn hiccuped and burped, then sat up a bit and leaned her head back, eyes focused (somewhat shakily) on Marasco.<br>"My life was unextraordinary too. Grade school and friends and all that...it passed but it didn't mean anything. I always knew I wanted to go into the military; I knew it from when I was younger than you and Deryn. So, soon as I turned 16, I gave it a shot. Didn't work out. Now when I was 16, not when I was 17...it wasn't until 1910, four years ago, that I actually had success. But...it wasn't what I anticipated."

Another drag, as if the Sergeant were gaining strenght to fight off some mental enemy that followed these memories. Maybe he was doing just that.  
>Alek couldn't move, couldn't even really think...he just had to LISTEN. Deryn was too, he could see that out of the corner of his eye.<br>"I signed up just after my 18th birthday, and this time, I actually got in. I wasn't looking to do anything special; just see some combat, you know? Against ANYONE. Get a single tour in, come home with some cash and war stories, then go and do whatever the hell my dad did for a living when he retired. But, when I came in and applied again...they pulled me aside. Said something about there being "someone IMPORTANT" who wanted to talk to me..."  
>He gave a slight smile, apperently enjoying this particular memory.<br>"That's when I first met Miranda Halsey. I will admit, part of the reason that I listened to her was how she looked; she had an almost...predatory look about her. I saw her and thought to myself; "THIS is a real Darwinist". So I listend to what she had to say."  
>This time the Sergeant reached for the bottle and took a long draw. So it was for him then it would seem. That was fine with Alek.<br>"She said I was a "special" person. One in a million, litterally. I met some criteria that she didn't exactly explain, that meant that I was of use to her for a special project. Now, I wasn't to interested in giving up my chance to be a soldier to be a test subject, or whatever she wanted...then she mentioned that I'd see more combat with her, and the pay was better, and so was the tech. But I still didn't feel like I would do it until she mentioned the possibility of seeing actual combat against the Clankers. I thought I'd never have the chance...my best hope was to get to the Phillipines maybe, smash about a few of the Huk inssurgents there...but a chance to actually show my mettle against the Clankers?"  
>He left it at that, a slight laugh leaving him. Alek frowned, once again asking himself what event had made Marasco so against Clankers. Of course he knew people who didn't like Clankers for one reason or another (Deryn certainly hadn't been a fan of them for making her airbeast crash into the Alps), but Marasco's dislike bordered on mania. The man would have no qualms about turning the entire countryside of Germany (and Austria-Hungary for that matter, to his deepest worry) into the same raging firestorm that the airship was slowly fleeing from.<br>A glance out the window showed the red glow to be far astern and fading quickly. Alek felt strangely relieved.  
>Marasco seemed to have collected his thoughts again, and began once more.<br>"I was her first recruit; at least, that's what I think. I'm not sure, she didn't ever tell me when the rest of the first batch of us was found...but I know for sure I was one of the first. It didn't take me long to realize that this group-we weren't called Darwin's Fist then, that came much latter-was where I belonged."  
>Strange how he sounded like he was telling it as a story, Alek thought. Like he was trying to convince someone that what had happened was right.<br>Except that Alek didn't know what happened, not yet...perhaps the Sergeant was convincing himself?  
>This was getting more and more peculiur...<br>"I met Shaw during some party in New York, hosted by her rich-ass dad. Apperently she trashed the place the next day and he shipped her off to us for punishment. Harkness and Sixx came from who knows where, and Dr. Church brought in Niles, and Crumb...just sort of materialized. I think her mom was the head of Scriviener Fabrications or something. I dunno."  
>He shrugged.<br>"There were 300 of us at the start, from all over America. Males and females, all of us around 18 or so. Halsey told us all to go to Fort Flagler, in Washington, just west of Seattle. So we did, she told us we were about to become the best soldiers anywhere, and litterally booted us out the door into training."  
>He frowned slightly.<br>"The first two weeks were literally hell on Earth. We had DI's-"  
>He paused, noticing Alek's look of confusion, which the boy noticed a moment later. He hadn't realized he'd been making it.<br>"Drill instructors." He explained. "Our trainers and bosses and worst enemies all in one. Anyway, we had some from the Marine Corps, the best of the best. Which meant they drove us till we thought we'd die. And then they drove us even harder. During the first two weeks, about half the original group of three hundred got cut. They just couldn't take the stress and they left."  
>"Just like the initiation to the Air Service." Deryn's voice, slow and thick like syrup, came from Alek's left. "They bring out a nasty fab to scare off any Monkey Luddites."<br>"We had something similar. They stuck us inside an airbeast's membrane for a day. A couple of Luddites were with us...poor bastards damn near went crazy. One pissed himself."  
>He snorted, once, before continuing.<br>"And THAT was only basic training." He continued. "Then came the real fun stuff. The new, advanced training Halsey had made just for us. Stuff that I don't think any soldier before has had to undergo...doing things that we litterally could NOT do. Moving logs that weighted as much as an elephantine, jumping across rooftops, running with fall packs...It lasted for two years, on and off anyway, and we lost another half of our group there. And not all of it was cuts."  
>He rubbed his shoulder, then his face, tracing the line of...a scar, perhaps? Long since healed.<br>"You know about Sixx's arm and leg, right?"  
>Alek and Deryn both nodded. The girl had eagerly shown the inner workings of her prostetics to Alek upon being asked to veiw them, and had (jokingly, or at least Alek hoped), offered to pose nude for Deryn to allow the girl to sketch their complicated Clanker workings.<br>"She lost them to an airship explosion. Training mission, over Puget Sound...First and Second Squad were up in the air, and a spark went off. Most of First Squad was lucky enough; we only broke bones and nearly drowned falling. We lost four soldiers though...and Second Squad was obliterated, other than Sixx and Harkness."  
>He sighed and took another long drink, so long that Alek thought he might just suddenly become drunk and crash onto the table, out cold. But he didn't, and after a long moment the Sergeant continued on.<br>"Those that made it through that got sent to the final training group. But first, they said, we had to be innoculated against...I dunno. EVERYTHING, pretty much. They said the Clankers had some nasty diseases in their cities, spawned by all the clart and dead bodies they just left by the sides of the road, and we needed to be ready."  
>Alek was about to say that, in reality, Clanker (well, Austrian anyway) cities were pinicals of cleanlyness and often-times had rather efficent ways to deal with waste and corpses...but then he remembered his single, disasterous trip into one, which had ended with a horse chase and him accidentally killing a horse soldier.<br>Dr. Halsey had obviously been spinning a tale for the soldiers of the Fist to get them under...something.  
>Marasco quickly filled in what he missed.<br>"We all agreed eagerly, and we went under. We thought it would be a quick procedure; sit down in the chair, get poked with a few needles full of dead bacteria and viruses-that's how innoculation works, see, dunno what you Clankers know about it-, and then be on our way. How wrong we were..."

He snorted and took another drag on his smoke, which had slowly grown smaller as he talked.  
>"They had us strip to the skin, shaved our heads and marched us into these clean rooms. Each had a table, and there were racks with needles and a tank of ether. We laid down and they knocked us out. Well...most of us."<br>His face turned hard for a second and he looked like he was about to throw up. Alek made ready to move in case the Sergeant did just that, but after a long second the soldier calmed and breathed easier.  
>"I woke up during it. I don't know how. But...I did. It was horrible; I couldn't move, could barely breath, all of me felt like it was burning but freezing at the same time...my muscles were trying to pull themselves free of my bones, my stomach wanted out through my throat, and my brain was melting into mush and trying to ooze out my ears and into my skull itself...I wanted to die, I wanted to kill, to make love, to burn and crush and..."<p>

He stopped, something that sounded like a strangled sob leaving him. A rustle from Alek's left indicated Deryn was moving, and a second later she appered, wrapping her thin arms around Marasco's powerful shoulders. If he noticed her, Marasco didn't comment.  
>"I lay like that for...I don't know. An hour, maybe. A day. A month. I couldn't tell. Someone realized I was up though, and they put me back down. When I woke back up...something was WRONG."<br>He stood suddenly, nearly throwing Deryn to the floor, and undid his coat. Underneith it was a pale, sleeveless cotton shirt, like what the vehicle operator who INSISTED that Alek call her "Tank Girl" always seemed to wear. The Sergeant's bare arms were as brawny as the rest of him...  
>And, Alek noticed, were marked by something.<br>"Gods wounds, what-"  
>"Needle scars. Whatever went wrong with the procedure for me make my skin react. When the pulled the needles out, this was what was left."<br>He paused, throwing the white shirt aside, revealing his bare chest to Alek. The scars were EVERYWHERE; anywhere that a needle could have been stuck it seemed, it HAD been.  
>Deryn, from the floor, looked up and made a soft moaning noise that Alek did not like in the least.<br>Marasco grabbed his jacket again and put it on, leaving the shirt off for the moment.  
>"That was the first thing I noticed when I got up. The second was that I felt...STRONGER. All of me felt like I never had felt before, like I'd taken a double dose of fabricated adrenaline...like I was full of electricity and it wanted OUT."<br>He clenched his fists, suddenly pulling himself backwards in an impressivly gymnastic backflip, landing on his right palm and doing several pushups, legs extended skywards, boots pointed up completely. He landed on his feet with the grace of a cat.

"It turned out was I WAS stronger...I was faster too, and I could see and hear and smell better...and I could HEAL. That was what shocked all of us...those of us who were left, anyway."  
>He sighed, another sad one. The story, it seemed to Alek, was causing Marasco's emotions to smash around the board like a rampaging walker.<br>"Not all of us made it. The fabrication-that was what they did to us, splicing in animal threads into our own and letting us mutate or SOMETHING-it killed some of us. We went under, but we didn't get up. And then when some of us figured out what happened..."  
>He mimed putting a gun to his head and squeezing the trigger.<br>"That's how I got to be Sergeant. I was Corporeal Marasco of First Squad and I liked it. Then Sergeant Adams didn't wake up from the operation, and her replacement, Sergeant Grahm, just, one day, stood up in the middle of the mess hall, screamed he was a monster and wouldn't live with it, and blew his brains out over my sandwich."  
>He paused to take a long breath and sit back down. Deryn reached up and pulled him into a hug again, and Alek realized she was crying.<br>What, for Marasco? PATHETIC!  
>Wait, why was he thinking THAT?<br>GOD this night was WEIRD...this whole MONTH had been. It was like when he'd found out his parents were dead and that he was on the run...he wasn't sure what to think anymore.  
>"Once everyone calmed down, we started training again...and that was when we, the thirty-plus who made it through, myself, Lieutenant MacPherson, and Sergeant Harkness included, realized that it was all WORTH IT."<br>He looked at Alek, eyes locked with his, and the former prince found himself unable to look away.  
>"Tell me, Alek...if you had the choice to be more than human, to do what you've seen us do...would you take it?"<br>Alek opened his mouth to say "Never!", but he actually had to think about it.  
>WOULD he? The obvious answer was "no", but in the world, nothing was ever that cut and dried...<br>If he were a fab, an unkillable soldier...would he have had the problems he had with Deryn and Tesla and everyone?  
>No. Of course not. He'd have been able to use brute force against them, and make the Kaiser kneel before him...<br>Gods wounds, was he actually agreeing with Marasco?  
>He shook his head.<br>"I wouldn't say no...not instantly." He said finally. Marasco nodded, understanding his answer.  
>"That was what the rest of us thought...those that lasted, anyway. Being able to do what we can do, fight like we can, MATE like we can...its INCREDIBLE. The human mind can barely handle it...its like being a GOD. And when we'd realized this, and figure we could do more than ever before and win any fight...Halsey called us all together again, and said that our training was finished. We were ready to fight. She gave us our name; Darwin's Fist. Because that's what we are...the fist of Darwinism."<br>"Ready to fall on anything that stands in your way." Alek said coldly, eyes narrowing. "Like the Kaiser."  
>"And the Mexican revolutionaries." Deryn added. She sniffled, and hugged Marasco a bit tigher. Marasco pried her off gently and placed her down, suddenly looking appologetic.<br>"Pheromones. Sorry about that...involuntary reflex."  
>Wait WHAT?<br>Alek was about to ask for clarifaction but Marasco was already off again and he had to swipe his attention back to him.  
>"That was our first mission; investigating what the hell happened down there. Rogers and Malone didn't exactly paint that clean a picture, especially thanks to your intervention-nice job throwing that asshole off your tail, by the way, much cleaner than snapping his neck and tossing him into the ocean-and Halsey wanted to know. She tried the clean way, going through side channels. Not even Hester could get anything."<br>"Hester?" Deryn asked, suddenly frowning. "How would she get anything out of that barking sneaky-beak reporter?"  
>"Blood is thicker than water, Lieutenant Sharp." He said simply, turning and looking out the window. "You do know "Shaw" isn't her real last name, right? A lot of us chose new titles when we woke up. My first name was Christopher once. But I changed it; a fab cannot be a Christ Bearer."<br>"Oh? Then what wou-"  
>Deryn's face suddenly turned pale.<br>"She...what...ROGERS?"  
>"Indeed. Shocking, isn't it? But its true. Take away the scar, and Hester would look almost like our favorite little nosy girl reporter."<br>"She never mentioned a sister..." Alek wasn't sure if Deryn was talking about Rogers or Shaw. Come to think of it, he himself hadn't heard the female reporter mention any family, other than perhaps her father.  
>"Disowned apperently. For her little stunt that landed her in the Fist. Or was it Rogers who got kicked out? I can't remember, and Hester's not to talkative about it...other than mentioning how she wants to deal with her."<br>He laughed, dryly, then sat down, looking at the Alek first, then Deryn.  
>"So; now you know my secret. What now?"<br>The question hit Alek like a brick. Again he found himself opening his mouth to say something, but it died in his throat and slid right back down.  
>"We can't tell." Deryn's voice was suddenly stronger and clearer than it had been before. Perhaps the adrenaline surge or the pheromones Marasco had mentioned were sobering her up.<br>"We can't?" Alek asked, eyes widening slightly. That seemed like the most OBVIOUS idea.  
>"No. We NEED them, Alek...you've seen what they can do. You want peace, right?"<br>"Of course. I want this war to END."  
>"Well, they're our key to doing just barking that. If the Kaiser knows the Fist is coming for him...will he want to keep fighting."<br>"I hope so...I want to breach his fancy palace with my bare hands." Marasco said with a slight grin.  
>Of course he did. He probably wanted to drag the Kaiser's wife off to some closet for a ravaging and set fire to the whole place afterwards.<br>Marasco, Alek decided, was insane; whatever Halsey had done to him had twisted his mind as well as his body.  
>He was no longer a person; he was a weapon, a fab unlike any other in the world but at the same time JUST the same...<br>But, really, Deryn was right. If they told SOMEONE (though he wasn't sure who would listen...Dr. Barlow, perhaps, but she wasn't in the listening mood, especially not at the current time)), then there'd be investigations, and the Darwinists would grind to a halt, and more people would die...  
>No. It was not a matter of IF; it was a matter of WHEN.<br>Yes, he decided, mind suddenly reeling at what he was planning. When the fighting was over, THEN they'd tell.  
>Or maybe it would leak out somehow during the fighting and they wouldn't have too...<br>"So we keep their secret?"  
>"Aye. Not too hard...everyone aboard here knows it already, right?"<br>"Everyone except for the dumb fabs. But they don't understand how their own clart-holes work." Marasco answered.  
>"There. Lot easier than hiding being a prince and a girl, aye?"<br>"Yes, I would say so..." Alek said, feeling a smile on his lips suddenly.  
>Having things cleared up, feeling weight off his shoulders...it always felt good, no matter the situation. Marasco seemed to be sharing it as well; he was smiling too, and finishing off his cigarette and the bottle on the table.<br>"Glad you saw reason." He said, raising the bottle to Alek. "Perhaps you're not as worthless as I thought."  
>"And perhaps you're not as blindly xenophobic." Alek replied. It was a lie, really. Marasco wasn't any of the sort. But he knew a little flattery couldn't help...<br>God's wounds, he was turning into Volger!  
>Marasco just grinned and reached across the table to shake Alek's hand. Alek took it, and the grip was firm and powerful.<br>"Im just glad I don't have to keep dodging questions from you two, at the least." The Sergeant said, turning to head for the door. "No more excuses for what you see on the battlef-"  
>He paused, eyes suddenly growing wide.<br>"GET DOWN!"  
>Alek barely had time to register what was happening before a massive weight was pulling him down, crashing him to the deck with a sound like a church bell. A second later, several dozen clothes lines stretched across the cabin.<br>Wait, that couldn't be right...clotheslines?  
>He reached up, trying to touch one. His hand went through it.<br>Not clothseline; LIGHT. Something had just punched a couple dozen holes in the outside of the cabin.  
>Marasco rose (it was he who had flattened both Alek and Deryn), touching his shoulder. Blood was leaking through his coat again. He'd been shot.<br>"Dammit!" He swore, face suddenly dark, eyes glittering with rage and (perhaps, Alek thought with neutrality) anticipation?  
>"CLICK!"<br>The dolphin, which had landed on the floor next to Deryn, squeaked and jumped upwards, a good five or six of its half-meter long body length straight up, landing on Deryn's chest. The girl rose, looking at the dolphin in confusion, and the dolphin looked back, before saying "I like your breasts" with its master's voice.  
>Marasco grabbed the dolphin in an iron fist and rammed it practically into his face, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted "MACPHERSON!"<br>The dolphin jumped again, then squeaked, speaking in the clipped tones of the Lieutenant.  
>"Sergant, where are you?"<br>"Starboard Cabin 12-Delta. Dealing with the two ZSL's! What the hell's going on?"  
>"Aeroplanes! A whole three squadrons! I think we've pissed someone off royally..."<br>"I'll be topside in five!" Marasco slammed the dolphin into his pocket, turning to Alek.  
>"Get Deryn, find a place with armor plating, and STAY THERE. In fact, I want you two to mate. Several times, I would think...this fight's going to take a while."<br>He rose, any trace of his confusion and depression and other negative feelings from before now erased. He had the scent of war in his nostrils and he was breathing it deeply.  
>"I'm going to make some widows."<br>He practically kicked the door open and charged down the hall, howling "DARWINS, TO THE SPINE!" as he did.  
>For a long moment, Alek was unable to move. He sat in the chair, head ringing, heart pounding.<br>Then Deryn's cool hand slid into his own, and her long, slender arm wrapped around his shoulde rand he found himself on his feet, being lead away and down the corridor. He followed. It was easier than thinking, right now anyway.  
>"Mmm. I like this idea..." Deryn whispered into his ear, breath hot on his neck like that of a hydrogen breather.<br>He just nodded. He was lost in his own thoughts, Marasco's question bouncing around his skull like a pinball.  
><em>If you were given the choice...would you?<br>_"No. I'll never become like you." He said, to the empty air.  
>Deryn flashed a quick look of confusion, then seemed to remember what Marasco had told her and relaxed again, face smoothing into the blissful, warm glow of a girl who had the promise of impending Darwinist contact on the horizion.<br>Alek found he didn't care.

And he continued to not care, right up until the moment Deryn started to pull his clothes off and pull him down onto the bunk of the closest room with thick walls.  
>The battle outside covered up most of the noises that followed.<p> 


	13. Chapter 12

Darwin's Fist

Chapter 12

The spine of the _Dreadnaught_ was as hellish as the burning remains of St. Petersburg behind them.  
>Marasco felt his face split into a painful grin, which nearly froze onto his face as he pulled himself upwards into the howling wind. MATE it was cold...<p>

He could worry about his own comfort later; the airship was in danger, and so was his team.  
>With a grunt, he reached down and pulled the item that had made his climb up so annoying; a Browning M2, pulled from the maintenance room for the Fist's vehicles, and 200 rounds of anti-air ammunition.<br>Speaking of aircraft...  
>He ducked as an aeroplane roared overhead, front mounted machine gun spewing lead along the flank of the airship.<br>"Bastard!" Marasco growled, flinching as the rounds plinked off the _Dreadnought's_ carapace armor. No way in hell those thing could punch through here, but they could mess the camo system up something fierce and take out some of the turrets.  
>Face set, Marasco grabbed the machine gun and started to make his way across the spine towards amidships. That's where he'd most likely find First Squad; guarding the men manning the supplementary AA turrets.<br>Another areoplane slashed overhead, nearly throwing him off the side.  
>CLART!<br>He grabbed one of the handholds, hand holding the M2 swinging wildly.  
>Dammit, what was wrong with his head? He felt...fuzzy.<br>Mating FERDINAND...he hated minds games. Much more simple to kick the crap out of your enemy with your boots and your bare fists.  
>The air settled and he started forwards again, trying to focus on the battle, but unable to. His mind kept wandering back to his conversation.<br>And, more specifically, Deryn, and her reaction.  
>Dr. Halsey said the pheromones the Fist produced only effected themselves and some fabs, like memory dolphins and escape Huxleys...but Deryn had shown the signs of reacting to them.<br>Why? What the hell did that mean...both biologically AND for how Marasco should treat her?  
>So many questions...and no damn time to ponder them.<br>The sound of weapons fire reached his ears, and he crawled towards it like a moth to a flame. He SEVERELY wished he'd grabbed his spine uniform before getting up here...as it was, he was only in his uniform jacket and his pants, the same things he'd been wearing to talk to Alek and Deryn. Of course they were slightly insulated, but it was STILL freezing.  
>He'd worry about that later. When there weren't...<br>One dozen, two dozen, three-no, not quite three.  
>Two and a half dozen aircraft trying to shoot down his airship.<br>The sky lit up with bullets again, but this time from the spine instead of towards it; one of the _Dreadnaught_s big AA batteries rising from her spine and opening up, spewing massive shells towards the nearest Clanker aircraft and huge brass casings out the ports on the side.  
>Marasco watched calmly as the two paths, shells and plane, closed, then crossed; the areoplane erupted into a fireball, bits of itself and the pilot and gunner spinning away towards the earth.<br>A cheer rose up from the spine, and Marasco echoed it, raising his M2.  
>Well now he knew for sure where the hell his unit was...<br>"Sarge!"  
>Shaw's voice cut through the noise like a knife, helped along by a little bit of audio boosting from Click, who linked with Tom to allow for communication.<br>"What the hell is going on Corporal?"  
>"Not a mating clue! These Clankers showed up out of nowhere and tried to blast our main drive engines to bits!"<br>"How'd that work out for them?"  
>"Well there WERE three dozen of them before the boys in the aft blister turrets had their fun..."<br>Marasco grinned, chuckling. "Idiots."  
>By which he meant the areoplanes, not the aft turret gunners. He'd be buying THEM a drink.<br>With a final surge of movement and a helpful pull from Hester, he managed to mount the spine. Catching his breath in the thin air, Marasco glanced around.  
>The center of their little gathering was a Wolf-Spider-class Anti-Air Battery; six 20mm guns and a pair of fabricated shark rocket launchers mounted in between rising from a retractable hatch atop the airship. The gunner's seat was actually INSIDE the ship; the weapon was too large to sport an external mount. It also meant the weapon was much less likely to go quiet if the operator was hurt. Something the British seemed to not understand...he'd seen their airguns at work. All you had to do was spray the area around one and it would be done. Not to mention no real Clanker aircraft was going to fall from a spray of DARTS.<br>Not the Wolf Spider though...if you wanted to tangle with it, you had to either had a hell of a death wish, or a Jointed Darwinist Aerial Munition; a JDAM, a 500 pound bomb surrounded by a coral-and-nerve beastie that could deliver the weapon to within two feet of its target from a mile up.  
>Of course the weapon on the turret itself could be knocked out...but that was what the hatch was for. The entire weapon system could be withdrawn within the <em>Dreadnaught<em> for repair and rearming, then extended right back up into the fight. Just like its namesake.  
>Sometimes Marasco wondered why the hell the Fist was even needed out on the spine for things like this...but he'd never had the chance to ask for definitive answers and he hadn't really cared to make time.<br>He didn't mind though...having the Wolf Spider behind them meant any Squad was more or less unstoppable by aircraft. Any that got too close would feel the bite of the Wolf Spider.  
>Speaking of that...<br>"Heads!" One of First Squad howled from further down the spine. Marasco glanced up, seeing (no surprise) ANOTHER areoplane on approach.  
>The Wolf Spider shifted and tracked it, trying to get a clean shot...but the Clanker had set his approach vector too low for the turret to hit. It couldn't track low enough.<br>Maybe that was why they were there...  
>DAMN.<br>Fine.  
>"First Squad! SHRED THAT CLANKER!"<br>First Squad didn't really need to be told; they were already raising their weapons by the time Marasco said the order.  
>The sky lit up with a thousand tiny firecrackers. Most of First was armed with submachine guns, but it sounded like Razack was finally putting her Lewis to some good use against an actual target instead of a door.<br>Marasco braced the M2 against the plating under his feet and joined in, fingers pressing the triggers for all they were worth. The gun rattled against his crotch, making his whole body jitter with the recoil, hot brass spraying steaming off into the black night.  
>"C-c-come g-gg-etttt SO-O-OMMMMEEE!" He shouted at the pilot.<br>The areoplane stood no chance; at this range, First Squad didn't even have to aim. It tumbled and fell, one of the crew popping a large silk sheet to slow his decent.  
>Shaw raised her Thompson to shred him, but Marasco lowered it for her.<br>"He's done."  
>The Corporal nodded, but reluctantly. Marasco understood it, and he softened her pain with a long kiss. "Where the clart have you been?" She asked, raising her hand to touch his cheek.<br>"Had to deal with the newbies...Deryn's smarter than she looks. She figured out about us."  
>Shaw's face grew pale.<br>"Mate. Did you-"  
>"No, she's willing to keep it mum. At least until we win."<br>"Oh. Well, guess I won't have to cut her head off then..."  
>Marasco chuckled. "Be glad for that. She seems like a nice enough girl, peculiarities aside."<br>Hester offered only a grunt, then glanced out into the sky, waiting for more of the circling areoplanes to come close. These ones seemed a bit smarter than the flock that had struck down the _Leviathan_. Different models for sure...there were a couple monoplanes mixed in with the more usual double-decker wing sets. They weren't buzzing them constantly, but waiting, watching, looking for openings.  
>Unfortunately for them the spine defense HAD no openings...especially with three full squads of Darwins to back up any places where a turret couldn't be placed.<br>"Any idea where the hell these things came from?" Marasco asked, glancing around as well. "We're way beyond any lines the Clanker's have. They can't have flown all the way here from Germany."  
>"None. They just showed up out of nowhere...MacPherson thinks it might have been launched from a carrier zeppelin, but that seems a little far-fetched, even for the Clankers."<br>"Well we can pull it off with our Sky Sharks..."  
>"Yeah, but that's cause we're Darwinists. The Clankers don't have hydrium remember?"<br>"Good point."  
>Hydrium was the magic bullet that let the Fist do so much that other countries couldn't. First discovered by some man named Grunnel (who then promptly and politely up and died aboard his world-circulating airship the <em>Hyperion<em> so that one of the backers of Darwin's Fist could commander his work), it was an artificial element that was lighter than hydrogen, and nonflammable to boot. Three square inches of it were enough to lift something the size of Click far into the stratosphere (as Marasco had seen demonstrated once, with a memory dolphin suspended from a small balloon rising to the roof of the lecture hall with a series of happy squeaks), and if you had a steady supply of it (such as provided by the stolen Grunnel Dynamos) you could lift something like an airship.  
>The <em>Dreadnought<em> for example.  
>The only problem Marasco had with it was that it smelled like mangos.<br>He was not a fan of mangos. Weird texture, too tough. He preferred apples and strawberries.  
>For the moment, the Clankers seemed to have realized they couldn't hit anything easily. They were holding back, shifting and swooping over the airship like fat, ugly predatory birds.<br>"So...how did Alek react to the news?" Hester asked, passing Marasco a cigarette. He took it eagerly, never one to say no to nicotine.  
>"I think he accepted it pretty easily...he didn't start calling me a monster, which was good. I think he's still in shock honestly, about this whole situation."<br>"Good. The longer he stays like that the more time we have before he starts spouting clart about PEACE." Hester flicked her lighter, but the intense wind snatched the flame away in a second.  
>"Dammit!"<br>"Here." Marasco moved his hands to shield it while Hester lit up.  
>"Thanks." She paused, putting the smoke to the side and sniffing him.<br>"You smell like Scottish chick in heat."  
>"Its Deryn...I think she's susceptible to our pheromones."<br>"You're kidding."  
>"No. When I was telling the part where we woke up, she started crying and hugging me."<br>"No clart."  
>"Yeah, I know...she really is a strange girl isn't she?"<br>"Forced mutation is my theory. She'd have made a good soldier for us if she wasn't a Scot."  
>"Forced mutation's always your theory."<br>Marasco snorted, glancing up.  
>Wait, hold it...<br>He stood further, raising the M2 with him. What the hell was that...something BIG was coming, blocking out the moon and the clouds to the stern.  
>"Oh CLART...BOMBER!"<br>The shout went down the line, passed from dolphin to human and back, and in seconds every single turret was being rotated to the stern, a couple dozen barrels gleaming dully in the moonlight.  
>First Squad raised their weapons as well. A bomber was a serious threat; the <em>Dreadnought<em> had armor rated for up to machine gun rounds but it sure as hell couldn't shrug off a bomb...  
>If the Clanker pilot saw the sudden interest in himself, he didn't react. The bomber plowed onwards, a looming, lethal shadow.<br>Unbidden, part of an old poem rose in Marasco's mind; "The Song of the Bomber", he had no clue who by.  
>"Silently I come, unseen by human eye; quiet death winging through the sky."<br>Well this one WAS seen and it sure as hell wasn't QUIET...even from here Marasco could hear the roar of its engines.  
>But none of the the many weapons pointed at the machine opened up; instead, an order passed through the wave of dolphins resting in soldier's pockets and on helmets and, in a few cases, crammed safely between breasts.<br>"All soldiers stand down; we'll handle this."  
>Marasco did so without hesitation. Some of the other Fist members grumbled about the lack of a chance to add a bomber to their kill tallies, but no one disregarded the order.<br>From further to the bow of the airship, something went off with a loud, wet "pop".

Marasco craned his neck around, in time to see something wet, soft, and slightly glowing soar right past his face, trailing half a dozen tentacles and leaving a trail of black ink behind it. It resembled a Huxley gone wrong, insides glowing green and pulsing, and a stink of lightning in the air behind it.  
>"Nemacyst!"<br>Damn...weren't those things still technically in the experimental stage?  
>Well this one wasn't. It was hauling its dorsal regions towards the bomber, tentacles failing slightly as it accelerated and rose upwards, climbing above the bomber...<br>And then down.  
>Even Marasco winced as he heard the beastie impact, smashing its fishy body across the front of the bomber and spraying fabricated acid everywhere.<br>The plane shivered, engine smoking...then crumpled. Bits of it flew everywhere, including...  
>Straight down...towards the stern of the <em>Dreadnought<em>._  
><em>MATE!  
>"RUN!"<br>Marasco didn't need to emphasize why. The moment that bomber hit (and he had no doubt the corpse of it would hit, the airship was simply too big to turn that fast), the shockwave would travel through the whole airship and knock anyone unfortunate enough to be on the outside off, unless they managed to either get inside, or secure themselves to the outside.  
>Marasco wasn't going to trust his safety line-oh, right. He didn't even HAVE one right now.<br>So instead he scrambled, followed by most of First Squad, to the nearest hatch, puling it open and damn near shoving his men inside.  
>Razack, Jones, Miller, Johnson, Shaw (he gave her rear a quick swat to get her moving faster, earning a cheeky grin from the girl despite the situation)...where was everyone else?<br>Through the back hatch it looked like...yes, there went Anderson, sealing it behind him.  
>Now all Marasco had to do was climb down after-<br>WHAM!  
>The airship was suddenly shaking, rattling under Marasco's hands like an angry tigersque that wanted him OFF. His grip on the machine gone loosened and it was gone, falling away.<br>"CLART!"  
>Pain roared up his legs as he hit. If he hadn't been fabricated the impact probably would have broken them or snapped them clean off. As it was he lost his breath and his fingers clenched tighter to the edge of the hatch.<br>"Gotta get back inside..."  
>Marasco pulled himself up and over the edge of the hatch, falling the two feet to the inside and landing flat on his back.<br>"OW!"  
>"Nice landing, boss."<p>

Someone stuck a hand out for him; Shaw, there as always to provide help.  
>Marasco accepted it and rose, body aching, but still in one piece.<br>"Alright, walk it off! First Squad, get to the stern and help with damage control! Shaw, you're with me! We need to get Bloom!"  
>The <em>Dreadnought<em> was damaged...he had no idea how badly.  
>But he wasn't going to bet it was something that they could fix in the air, not with how much metal had hit her...they'd need to set her down. And Bloom would most certainly know where a Russian airfield they could commander was...<br>And if it turned out that they could repair it, well, they did need a resupply...either way, they needed a landing zone and the Russian girl was the best choice for that.  
>Shaw hurried after him, their boots echoing on the deck in near synchronization.<br>"Where the hell did Harkness stick her?"  
>"I don't know, and I haven't seen her since she came on board...she's stuck to her quarters."<br>"Course...probably moping." Marasco paused, sniffing. Burning fabric, cordite, fuel...  
>THERE.<br>"This way!"  
>He turned on his heel and pounded down the corridor, heading to the room with the most powerful scent coming from it.<br>"Bloom! BLOOM! OPEN UP!"  
>He pounded on the door, so hard he accidentally dented it. CLART!<br>The door stayed solid and unmoving for a moment, then pulled open, the great blond head of the former Russian Guardswoman poking out, muttering something in Russian before opening the door further.  
>Marasco didn't even see her hand coming; the moment he realized she'd slapped him was when the whole right side of his face suddenly starter burning.<br>OW...  
>"What the hell?" Shaw spat, grabbing her hand.<br>"Do not interrupt my resting if you please." Anya replied in broken English, more broken than before. Marasco saw tear tracks on her face and redness in her eyes...she'd been crying recently, and hard.  
>"Oh, I'm sorry, perhaps you'd prefer we let you DIE when our airship crashes?" Shaw snapped, aiming a slap back at the girl. With surprising reflexes, she caught it, looking murderously at the Shaw.<br>"What are you talking about?"  
>Wait...she hadn't heard the battle? That seemed...unlikely.<br>"The _Dreadnought_ is wounded, and bad. Some stupid Clanker just rammed a bomber into her. We need to set down. You know the area..."  
>"Da...and...you wish a landing field for your airship?"<br>Quick on the uptake then...  
>"Yes. And as fast as you can if you please-"<br>Bloom was already gone, pushing past him with a strange look of disdain.  
>"Thinks she's barking princess of the sky don't she?" Shaw muttered.<br>"No more than Sharp does." He replied, taking off after her.  
>The whole of the airship was shuddering angrily; Marasco did NOT like that feeling at all.<br>Bloom seemed to get the severity of the situation. She moved quickly, and with purpose, pulling the two Darwins along behind her like pet fabs on leashes.  
>The door to the bridge was open, the Marines on guard missing, and angry shouting came from inside. Ducking his head, Marasco looked in on a scene of utter devastation.<br>Apparently something else had hit the _Dreadnought_ aside from the bits of the bomber...there'd been a fire on the bridge and some of the control crew were finishing putting out the last of it with bursts of gas from big copper extinguishers and shots of water from memory dolphins (which, among many other talents, could ingest about fifteen or twenty times their own weight in liquid like a gulper eel could with its meals and then regurgitate it with impressive force).  
>Bloom swept past them all to the command table, around which Dr. Halsey, Dr. Church, and Lt. MacPherson were all standing, shouting orders and cursing. None looked injured, though both boffins seemed absolutely hopping MAD.<br>"Where's the report from the damage crews?"  
>"Still coming ma'am, internal communications are completely jammed!"<br>"Well get them cleared and do it NOW!"  
>Halsey was pissed...Marasco had never seen her so close to livid before. Cheeks flushed, fist clenched and pounding the table.<br>Strange to think she'd be mad about this...none of the Fist was hurt, and they were her creation...  
>"Ma'am, we've brought Sergeant Bloom. She says she knows the area, can help us find a place to set down." Marasco reported, wanting to get this done quickly. The shaking of the airship was getting worse by the second. He doubted it would fall apart but...well...it was just a machine. It couldn't heal itself.<br>Halsey turned to face the Guardswoman, giving her a hard stare.  
>"Are you sure?" She asked in fluent Russian.<br>"Da. I know this area like...back of hand."  
>Bloom waved her hand in indication.<br>"Map?"  
>Halsey nodded and the command table shifted to reveal a map of the current area; the Clanker contraption inside being moved by someone in the room above to project the right area.<br>"We are here." The film over the map shifted and grew into the shape of the top of the _Dreadnought_. "And the nearest air base..."  
>"Here." Bloom pointed without hesitation at an area a couple dozen miles to the northwest. "The commoner scum took it in the first hours of the rebellion. What they hope to do there I do not know."<br>"Well, if its in the hands of the Bolshiveks..." Church noted, thinking. "We wouldn't have an issue with taking it back would we?"  
>"The Bolshiveks are enemies of America. Their governmental ideas are an affront to both Darwinists AND Clankers. I assume that after we deal with the Kaiser, we'll be handling them next." Halsey agreed. "I don't see an issue with letting the Fist get some combat experience against them, do you Dr. Church?"<br>"Not at all, Dr. Halsey."  
>Halsey nodded and turned to Marasco. She seemed much calmer now.<br>"Your orders are simple then, Sergeant. In line with the recent rescinding of the no-combat order, you will lead the Fist against this air base and secure it for the _Dreadnought_. Leave no survivors."  
>"Which part of the Fist, ma'am?"<br>"ALL of it."  
>Marasco's face split into a huge smile. He couldn't help it...<br>FINALLY. Finally after months and months of running around and doing dirty work behind the scenes...they'd get a REAL battle.  
>"Yes ma'am! Permission to deploy via mutalisk drop?"<br>"Granted with all haste, Sergeant. GO."  
>Marasco was running even before she had finished, boots slamming on the deck with the sound of metal on rubber.<br>Behind him he could hear Bloom and Shaw catching up, the heavier footfalls of Bloom taking position behind him.  
>"Mutalisks? You sure that's a good idea sir?"<br>"They got the issues with them worked out didn't they?"  
>Mostly anyway...sometimes they still tried to eat their rider but that wasn't an issue to a Darwin. Any bite they gave them would heal up pretty quickly...and their mouths weren't even that big.<br>Shaw seemed to agree with him for the most part, as she didn't disagree with Marasco, nor turn and flee in the opposite direction.  
>Instead she followed him, a curious sounding Bloom behind her, as Marasco lead them to the armory.<br>"What're we doing here, Sarge? The Muta launch teams should have guns for us..."  
>Marasco shook his head.<br>"It ain't for guns, Corporal. This is going to be a REAL fight...after our little misadventure with the Stahl Legion bitch, Halsey rescinded Order 45."  
>"No WAY." Apparently the order from the doctor hadn't reached the rest of the Fist just yet. Considering the lack of time between events (had it only been a few hours since they'd come back from St. Petersburg? Bloody hell), it wasn't all that impossible. Halsey had probably been busy with other things.<br>"Yes way. No more playing rescue force. Its time we fulfilled our role as the fist of Darwinism..."  
>"And for that we need out gear."<br>Shaw's face split into a smile. "Split" being the accurate word...her scar pulled upwards slightly as the muscles on each side moved against each other.  
>Marasco didn't bother to answer her. Instead he just started walking again, putting his weight forwards. He could feel the airship starting to list slightly, undoubtedly from the wound the bombers corpse had made in it.<br>The armor was full of motion; the crew was executing their emergency procedures, which consisted of getting the heaviest, most expendable equipment to the exterior hatches and making ready to hurl it out. Marasco hated that such a waste was even a possibility...but even the _Dreadnought_ wasn't permanently aerostatic. If she lost enough hydrium she'd sink just like any other airship or airbeast. Perhaps a bit slower and more graceful but...  
>Armory Chief Gunnam paused in his shouting of curses and order (in equal measure) to turn to see who had entered his private domain of weapons and armor.<br>"Sergeant Marasco sir! Sorry for the mess...what can I do for you?"  
>Either Gunnam didn't know the seriousness of the situation or he was burying it deep down. Marasco could care less what the reasoning was.<br>"First and Second Squads are going to be executing a Muta drop. We need decent gear and LiskSkin armor."  
>Gunnam was already turning to shout more orders to his men, telling those busy hauling containers of armor and weapons crates to the windows and the emergency ejection hatches to stop and come back, and to prep several batches of LiskSkin for attachment.<br>While that was going on, Marasco reached into his front pocket and fished around for Click. The dolphin had been mostly asleep during the fighting on the spine, not having woken up from the "nap time" command that he'd give it back in the cabin with Alek and Deryn.  
>"Wake up, you lazy fish." He said, giving the dolphin a slight shake. Click squeaked indignantly and blinked at him angrily, but began transmitting when he shouted "Harkness".<br>"Report." Marasco said.  
>"Second Squad is in their positions and ready for orders, sir." Harkness replied through the dolphin.<br>"Change of plans. Get all of your men to the armory. We're about to take the fight to the ground."  
>"Sir? What about Epsilon 45?"<br>Marasco grinned.  
>"Halsey rescinded it."<br>A moment of silence. Then;  
>"Copy that sir, Second Squad is on the way. What's the plan?"<br>"Same as over Mexico; First will take a Muta drop down and open a beach-head. Second will follow us and we'll clean the whole base out together."  
>"Lets hope it goes better this time around..." Harkness noted darkly, before Click relaxed and looked up at him.<br>Stuffing the dolphin unceremoniously into his coat, Marasco hurried towards where Gunnam was having the LiskSkin armor pieces assembled.  
>The name of the gear was accurate; made from the same life chains as the Lisk combat species fabricated by Dr. Sarah Kerrigan, the material was one of the truly revolutionary and lethal things about the Fist. No other unit besides them had access to the material...partially because it was so expensive and so complicated to fabricate and manufacture, and partially because only someone with the inherent inhuman strength of a Darwin could withstand carrying the sheer weight and the pressure it exerted on the body to hold itself secure.<br>But when something with the brute strength of a Darwin and the intrinsic healing capabilities put it on...well, LiskSkin was tough material. Its outer shell was an inch thick and biologically re-enforced, was near impossible to puncture with anything short of a sniper round, and anything that did hit got scabbed over by the biological "creep" material that covered the plates and lived underneath it. Worked pretty well at sealing up wounds on the solider too, and speeding the recovery of the injured tissue. In effect; a Darwin wearing LiskSkin was tougher, and healed faster, than an unarmored fellow.  
>The trade off was speed, though...but speed wasn't an important factor in First Squad's repertoire. It was there yes but it wasn't an necessity. Their job was to hit hard and keep hitting until the Clankers fell over dead. Not fast, but relentless.<br>Marasco, suitably convinced that Second Squad would be here momentarily, pointed to Shaw.  
>"Get suited up Corporal."<br>Shaw nodded and hurried to the assembly table, where the LiskSkin was being readied for use. Bloom made to follow him, and he put up his hand to stop her.  
>"Not you, Bloom. This is our fight."<br>The Russian's face took on a look of contempt.  
>"Don't even try and argue. You may be a guest and an ally but I can still flatten your ass. Get to safety. We'll talk about what you can do to help later." He told her.<br>Bloom wasn't stupid, that much he could see. She sighed with disgust and turned hautily.  
>Marasco watched her go, making sure she had actually left, before he went to retrieved his suit of LiskSkin.<br>This wasn't going to be an operation for a normal human. If Bloom had come along she probably would have ended up dead, from combat or from attempting to operate the suit of armor. Which, he realized, might be exactly what the former guardwoman wanted.  
>All the more reason to not let her have it really.<br>The Sergeant's musings were broken by the pounding of several dozen boots on metal. Ah...First and Second Squad, right on time. Third Squad would be along shortly, he figured, since they were probably busy keeping the ship in the air.  
>He turned, picking up a chest plate of LiskSkin. The stuff was made to fit over whatever it was placed on comfortably, so that a solider could jump straight from, for example, getting Darwinist with his mate to fighting a full on firefight without having to worry about changing or getting ready. Marasco knew it was possible...he'd done it himself once. Though it had been awkward afterwards, explaining why he'd had to stop.<p>

The Sergeant turned to the assembled soldiers, raising his LiskSkin chest plate.  
>"Soldiers of Darwin's Fist! Our time being on the sidelines had finally come to an end! As of yesterday, Dr. Halsey has officially rescinded Order Epsilon 45. We are no longer a reactionary force, and in due course, we are about to take part in the first real fight on enemy ground that America has taken part in during this war!"<br>Not saying much considering they weren't even fighting Clankers...but the speech wasn't about accuracy, it was about getting their blood flowing and their rage up.  
>"To the south is an airstrip that the stupid Bolshiveks think they can take as their own! We are going to go down there on the leathery wings of mutalisks and prove them just how WRONG those assholes are!"<br>What exactly did the Bolshiveks want anyway? They hated the Tzar but that was about all Marasco knew. And to be honest he couldn't dissagree...he'd heard what that bastard had done to the air-beast sent to investigate the hole in Sibera. All because of that useless machine in New York...  
>"So arm up, Darwins! And don't even THINK about taking anything that even RESEMBLES Clanker technology! We're going to do this in the way that would make the Great Fabricator himself proud! WHO THE MATE IS WITH ME!"<br>All of First and Second Squad howled back, and they raised their hands in the Fists's salute; right hand clenched tight with their thumb stuck through the hole their fingers made like the life chain on their unit patch.  
>"THEN ARM UP!"<br>He grabbed the LiskSkin plate with one arm, tossed his jacket off with the other, and slipped it over his bare chest.  
>Instantly the fabricated material sensed the present of living flesh under it and adjusted, shifting its creep underbody to form-fit to Marasco's chest. Bits of hide extended to form straps around the sides to hold it in place, and it warmed slightly, matching his body temperature. In a moment, it was like he was wearing an armored carapace, as if the armor and he were one. Not too far from the truth either...LiskSkin fed off human sweat. As long as the soldier wearing it lived and extruded salty liquid, the armor would protect him.<br>The rest of First and Second Squads rushed to join him, mounting the armor on their bodies and shifting slightly as it adhered and adjusted.  
>Marasco continued, slipping his hands into the gauntlets and his legs into the boots. LiskSkin was a full-body armor; more like a crabs shell than anything else. And in fact that was pretty much what it was, in essence. The armor had many strains of crustacean within its make up along with other exoskeleton-bearing species. Sensing his presence the armor moved, setting plates of citin against his body and locking down.<br>Finally, with most of his body covered in formfitting plates of shell armor, Marasco donned the helmet. This was probably the most complicated part of the armor; while the rest of it was just dumb muscle with instincts, no different than a rebreather, the helmet was almost intelligent. Not as smart as a memory dolphin or loris (where the hell was that one that Deryn had brought with her...he'd check that later), but enough so that it would secure itself to the wearer's head and stay there, and provide communications between the different soldiers through memory dolphin integration, as with all Darwin's Fist equipment.  
>The legs of the helmet locked under Marasco's chin, squeezing tight and holding to his cheeks. They were armored as well and resembled those of a King Crab, long and spindly and spiky. One reached down, and Marasco offered Click to it, the dolphin latching on eagerly and being lifted into the special slot in the helmet's side, sitting snugly behind an inch of armor plating and next to Marasco's mouth and ears for easy communication.<br>The only non-organic part of the armor was the pair of goggles that slid over Marasco's eyes, but even those were set into an organic housing that was controlled by the helmet, and which held them in place.  
>With the goggles secure, Marasco was fully armored up. He paused to look down at himself.<br>Though, obviously, he was already far from human, at least on a genetic level, LiskSkin made him seem like something out of a Clanker's blackest nightmare. A human face without eyes, peering out from a redish crab-like carapace of thick armored plates that sat atop a black undersuit that seemed to move on its own, spikes extruding from the gauntlets and the shoulders and strapped under the chin; the vestigial remains of the crab that the armor was grown from. Useful for close quarters work as well.  
>He grinned, and he felt the crab legs of the helmet adjust and grip the edges of his lips to hold the smile in place when he relaxed. One of the issues with LiskSkin helmets; they seemed to have a thing for psychological manipulation. Pulling the wearer's lips into a richtus was something the boffins simply couldn't get rid of.<br>Looking at the rest of First and Second Squads, Marasco couldn't help but agree; who WOULDN'T be intimidated by what he saw before him?  
>For a moment, he felt a surge of recognition. Now that he thought about it, the armor worn by the girl they had fought in the Bloom Theater resembled LiskSkin. Clankerised, of course, and powered by electricity but...<br>Hmmm.  
>He shook his head forcefully and moved to retrieve the second set of the gear he needed; the decent harness.<br>LiskSkin was designed to be completely modular; extra parts and pieces could be added as necessary for specific tasks. For their upcoming decent via Mutalisk, this included a spike of coral and cords that would attach it to the back of the armor, allowing the Muta to latch onto the soldier with its dorsal emission vent. Of course this meant that the Muta couldn't utilize the vent to launch its Glave Wurm symbiotes to attack the enemy, but the trade off of lower damage at first meant that when it could, it had a Darwin on the ground to aid it in combat.  
>First and Second Squads did the same, strapping the harnesses to their chests, grinning to a man.<br>"Check your gear! I don't want mistakes this early!" Marasco barked, moving to where Shaw was finishing up assembling her set of LiskSkin. She was having trouble with the chest plate...one of the few issues with the gear. Someone with healthy sized diddies (like Shaw) had to deal with the armor trying to seal itself over them. Not the most comfortable feeling.  
>Marasco loosened the straps around her chest for her and she inhaled deeply.<br>"Mate, thanks. Remind me again WHY you say having big tits is a good thing, sir?"  
>"It intimidates others." He replied, the answer he always gave, because it was really the only one that she wanted to hear. Especially when about to go into combat.<br>He had other reasons but he kept them to himself.  
>With her chest plate more comfortably secure, Shaw paused to check Marasco's harness, smacking his shoulder to tell him he was fine. He nodded, then did the same to her, returning the shoulder hit.<br>"Sound off, any issues?" He called. No one replied. Everyone was set.  
>Only one more thing to do then.<br>"Arm up, Darwins!"  
>The soldiers roared and affirmative and reached for the weapons that Chief Gunnam had left out for them. What they retrieved were not the weapons the American military knew of usual; they were Darwinist creations, all meat and bone, and just as lethal because of it.<br>They didn't have a choice in the matter. LiskSkin made using standard firearms almost impossible; the armored fingers of the gauntlest didn't have that kind of dexterity. They could form into a fist...but firing a rifle was almost impossible.  
>Marasco chose his prefered weapon, one analogous to a rifle that was, for the moment, entitled a "Spiker". The name was fitting; instead of firing bullets the weapon utilized lethally long, serrated spikes of bone propelled by a contraction of muscles at the base of the "barrel".<br>It looked ungainly, and didn't really have handles or a trigger (it was designed to be strapped to a LiskSkin gauntlet, so that the soldier with it could keep their hands free to crush and tear), but it was lethally effective at long range, and the massive, backwards-pointing blade that extended from the base of the firing chamber made it useful at closer ranges too. The blade was sharp enough to cut through meat as tough as a fighting bear's without much resistance. Combined with a Darwin's natrual strenght, and it could be incredibly effective.  
>He strapped the Spiker to his arm, and he felt the weapon lock into place against his right gauntlet, small finger-like legs extending from its main body to hold it in place.<br>Suitably armed, he checked over the unit one more time. They too were arming up, retrieving their prefered Darwinist weapons and arming them.  
>Good.<br>"Any soldiers ready, to the deployment bay! Anyone here who's not ready yet, get done quick and join us!"  
>With his orders dispersed, Marasco hurried towards the deployment bay.<br>As by intention, the bay was practically next-door to the armory. A large rolling door separated them, which had been hauled open by the armory crew minutes earlier, and as he passed through he could feel the activity within it before he saw it.  
>The place was a madhouse; fabs shrieked and squacked and bubbled, driven to a frenzy by the fighting outside and the impact to the airship. As he watched, a Sky Shark was rushed past on its launching wheels, the pilot inside making signals of a green checklist. With a howl of hot gas being vented from behind it the living vehicle roared forwards and was flung into the air by its own power, screaming off into the darkening night.<br>With no time to spare, Marasco headed for the near corner of the hanger, where the Mutalisks sat, ready to be launched with the Darwin's aboard them. Their screeching, the spine-shiveringly high pitched "teki-li-li!", reached him before he reached them.  
>Like the armor he wore, and all specices that bore the "Lisk" title, the Mutalisk had been fabricated by Dr. Kerrigan, on order of the American Council of Combat Fabrications, when it was realized that the Americans were in a dire lack of anything to match even the simplest of ground combat beasties used by most other nations. No tigersques like the British, or fighting bears like the Russians.<br>Dr. Kerrigan produced results far beyond the Council's expectations, creating an entire ecosystem of fabs based on the same genetic sequence...to the point of causing fear among them when, during a test, one of her Hydralisks anti-air fabs actually managed to shoot down the Clanker-made observation balloon that had been observing it.  
>Though bearing some of the same genetics as the flechette bat, the Mutalisk's resemblance stopped at its leathery wings. The rest of its body was covered in hard scales similar to the ones covering Marasco's chest, and curved slightly downwards from where the wings and body met in a spiny, musclar "tail", like a reverse scorpion.<br>This tail, however, was hollow, and housed the tube by which the Muta launched the glave wurms it used as its weapon.  
>As Marasco neared, the screeching of the Muta's grew higher pitched; they smelled the hormones that his harness's spike extruded, and their dim brains felt only one thing; the want to dock with it.<br>Marasco let the largest, meanest looking one do just that, turning around and keeping his arms at his side.  
>The Muta rose, its handlers letting it go and hurrying backwards out of the way of its great leathery wings. Extending its hollow tail, it secured itself to the back of Marasco's armor, pulling itself close to the soldier. The Muta fit perfectly behind him, its head resting atop his helmet, tail secured along where his spine was, hidden under all the armor he had on. To anyone who didn't know the difference, it would seem that Marasco had a set of leather wings, like those of a decent pack, such as the British used (and what, if he was not mistake, had caused Deryn to shred her knee in Mexico).<br>He moved forward a bit, making sure the Muta was secure. It was; the beastie made no noise and no movement, other than to shift its wings to follow his shoulders. Once secured the Muta would follow where Marasco told it to go, until they hit ground and he let it go.  
>A few jumps told him the muta was completely there and ready. Comforted in that fact, Marasco turned to the hanger doors, waiting for the rest of First and Second Squads to join him.<br>They did so slowly, their mutas shifting slightly, ready for the leap.  
>Now came the first step; to get down on the ground.<br>In this kind of situation...there was only one way to do that.  
>"FOR DARWINISM!"<br>Marasco ran with a war cry and hurled himself off the edge of the hanger bay, down into the blackness of the night. 


End file.
